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BY 


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D      967.D64 
As  the  crow  flies. 


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BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 

THREE  GREEK  TALES. 

i6mo,  pp.  173.     Price,  $1. 
The  Geo.  M.  Allen  Company. 


PRESS  COMMENTS. 

REVIEW  OF  REVIEWS. 

The  three  tales  which  compose  this  little  volume 
have  been  previously  published  in  the  Hartford 
Post.  "  The  author  frankly  acknowledg'es  himself 
a  disciple  of  the  romantic  school,"  and  his  stories 
have  the  dreamy,  remote  atmosphere  which  he  has 
aimed  to  produce.  There  is  much  beauty  in  these 
pale,  pathetic  creations  and  they  have  doubtless  a 
certain  affinity  with  the  scenery  of  Greece,  as  Mr. 
Dodge  suggests.  It  is  the  present  day  Greece  of  a 
modern  man's  imagination,  however,  and  we  must 
not  take  the  title  "  Greek  Tale,"  as  at  all  applic- 
able to  the  stories  in  the  classical  sense.  They 
might  in  some  truth  be  compared  in  style  with  Mr. 
Winter's  poems. 

NEW   YORK  COMMERCIAL   ADVERTISER. 

*  *  *  They  are,  all  three,  quiet,  unpretentious, 
gracefully  told  stories  that  almost  all  classes  of 
readers  will  enjoy. 

NEW  YORK  RECORDER. 

*  *  *  In  method  and  scene  alike  the  book  is  a 
pleasing  variation  from  the  conventional. 

TOWN  TOPICS. 
There  is  a  charm  in  Walter  Phelps  Dodge's 
"  Three  Greek  Tales"  wholly  in  keeping  with  the 
classic  scenery  in  which  they  are  laid  and  the 
classical  associations  it  suggests.  Of  those  fair 
isles,  dear  alike  to  the  artist  and  the  litterateur, 
story  and  picture  each  take  on  qualities  borrowed 
from  its  rival,  and  these  tales  of  modern  Greek  life 
are  enjoyable  largely  for  their  picturesque  setting. 

NEW  YORK  TELEGRAM. 

*  ^  *  A  young  author  could  hardly  have  a 
more  auspicious  introduction  to  the  public  than  this 
small  volume  gives.  If  there  is  no  realism  or  pre- 
tence to  analysis  of  character,  there  is  something 
far  better  and  rarer,  in  these  days  of  over-stufifed 
and  over-seasoned  "roast  and  boiled" — there  are 
characters  that  stand  out  and  that  live  and  breathe 
by  reason  of  a  few  fine  outlines  of  suggestiveness. 

NEW  YORK  WORLD. 

*  *  *  Love  stories,  all  of  them,  well  told  in 
the  main. 


AS  THE  CROW  FLIES 


FROM  CORSICA  TO 
CHARING  CROSS 


BY 

WALTER  PHELPS  DODGE 

Author  of  "Three  Greek  Tales" 


NEW  YORK 

GEO.  M.  ALLEN  COMPANY 

1893 


Copyright,  1893 

GEO.  M.  ALLEN   COMPANY 

New  York 


THE   ALLEY-ALLEN    PRESS,    NEW    YORK 


TO    MY    FATHER 

D.  STUART    DODGE 


Ni> 


H^- 


7 


rr 


'   7 


VL^ 


Acknowledgment  is  made 

to  the  Editors  of  the  Hartford  Post 

and  the  Hartford  Couraxt  ; 

in  whose  papers  these  tetters  first 

appeared 


INDEX 

PAGE 

Introduction 7 

A  Glimpse  of  Corsica     .....       g 

Along  the  Riviera 17 

San  Remo 29 

The  City  of  Palaces 40 

The  Napoleonic  Legend     ....     49 
A  Devonshire  Market  Town       .     .     62 

Oxford 68 

The  English  Littoral        ....     76 
A  Day  at  Windsor     .     .  ...     81 

^  Scarborough 89 

Climbing  in  Lakeland 94 

Windermere .     .   105 

Sandringham  House 112 

The  Latter-day  Jacobites      .     .     .122 


INTRODUCTION 

iN  Summer,  particularly  in  trav- 
elling, one  is  very  apt  to 
^  prefer  a  simple  glass  of  ice- 
cold  lemonade  —  not  too 
sweet, — to  a  bumper  of  burgundy 
or  a  tankard  of  ale  ;  and  it  has 
been  the  author's  experience  that 
the  mental  processes  are  not  unlikely 
to  follow  the  example  of  the  physical, 
in  this  particular.  For  this  reason 
he  is  encouraged  to  submit  these 
slight  sketches  of  divers  persons  and 
places  to  an  indulgent  public. 

He  may  say  that  the  sketch  en- 
titled "  Sandringham  House  "  has 
been  submitted  to  the  highest  author- 
ity, and  that  its  substance  is  approved 
by  the  Personage  with  whom  it  is 
chiefly  concerned. 

W.  P.  D. 

New  York, 
April  ist,  1893. 


As   the   Crow   Flies. 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    CORSICA. 


ASTIA. — Nice  is  too  attrac- 
tive to  leave  without  regret 
at  any  time,  and  we  felt 
particularly  sorry  for  our- 
selves one  evening  towards 
six  o'clock  when  we  saw  the  disrepu- 
table little  tub  of  a  steamer  that  was 
to  take  us  over  to  Corsica  ;  and  as  we 
penetrated  the  odourous  mysteries  of 
the  cabin  we  devoutly  hoped  that  we 
might  see  Bastia  in  the  morning  with- 
out foundering,  for  the  berths  were 
suspiciously  like  the  long,  narrow 
coffin  shelves  in  family  vaults  and 
had  been  built  apparently  for  child- 
ren, so  cribbed,  cabined  and  confined 
were  their  proportions.  We  said 
little  as  we  put  away  our  portman- 
teaux and  cameras  and  took  our  rugs 
from  the  strap,  but  our  looks  spoke 
volumes  and  we  were  careful  to 
sprinkle  plenty  of  Keating's  powder 
about  the  place. 


lO  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

A  fine,  drizzling  rain  soon  began 
and  we  were  compelled,  much  to  our 
disgust,  to  leave  the  comparatively 
unobjectionable  deck  where  sturdy, 
bare-legged  sailor  boys  were  shouting 
and  singing  and  throwing  ropes  and 
chains  about  to  no  apparent  end.  As 
soon  as  we  had  reached  the  depths 
of  the  noisome  little  cabin,  dinner 
was  served,  and  oh,  the  mockery  of 
that  dinner  !  Everything  was  scented 
with  garlic,  and  when  the  flavour  of 
that  questionable  delicacy  was  absent 
it  was  replaced  by  the  taste  of  rancid 
oil.  We  did  not  sit  the  meal  out, 
and  although  it  was  barely  .nine 
o'clock,  threw  ourselves  on  our 
shelves  to  try  and  forget  the  too 
perceptible  motion  as  the  little  boat 
quitted  the  sheltering  harbour  of 
Nice.  Although  the  sea  was  calm 
enough,  the  small  size  of  the  boat 
unconsciously  suggested  the  idea  of 
a  rough  sea. 

Our  sleep  was  more  or  less  broken 
—  generally  more,  and  at  six  we  were 
awakened  by  a  fiendish  blast  of  the 
whistle  which  was  near  our  berths,  to 
an  overpowering  sense  of "  certain 
strange  and  gruesome  odours.  The 
cabin  had  been  hermetically  closed 
on  account  of  the  rain,  and  on  the 
floor  about  the  tables  were  stretched 
in  various  attitudes  of  abandon  sev- 
eral  human   forms,   who   proceeded 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  II 

to  rise  and  shake  themselves.  It  is 
needless  to  say  we  had  thrown  our- 
selves down  fully  dressed,  and  we 
made  a  sudden  rush  for  the  compan- 
ion way,  for  if  ever  there  was  an 
odour  that  could  be  cut  it  was  the 
one  in  the  tightly  closed  little  cabin 
of  that  dirty  little  steamer  off  Bastia 
in  the  rainy,  chill  darkness  of  that 
December  morning. 

A  hasty  fee  to  the  steward — and  the 
next  moment  saw  us  on  the  quay  at 
Bastia,  holding  fast  to  our  valises, 
threatened  by  a  ragged  mob  of  urch- 
ins who  would  have  had  but  little 
respect  for  the  doctrine  of  meum  and 
tuum.  AVe  scrambled  into  a  musty, 
damp  hotel  'bus  and,  half  asleep  still, 
were  rattled  over  the  badly-paved 
streets  to  our  hotel.  And  what  a 
hotel  !  We  were  received  in  a 
mouldy  courtyard  by  an  antiquated 
porter  in  undress  uniform,  with  a 
farthing  tallow  dip,  who  gruffly  in- 
formed us  that  we  could  get  no  coffee 
for  two  hours  and  who  then  ushered 
us  upstairs  to  the  grimy  little  room 
reserved  for  us.  I  don't  know  yet 
how  high  the  hotel  was,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  we  were  never  to  reach  the  top 
as  we  struggled  after  that  wavering 
candle.  No  wonder  tourists  who 
think  nothing  of  a  run  to  Colombo 
or  Aden  or  a  trip  to  New  Zealand 
shudder    at    the    thought    of    doing 


12  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Corsica  or  Sardinia,  for  anything 
more  uncivilized  than  the  ways  of 
getting  there  I  have  never  seen. 

The  time  passed  drearily  on  as 
we  waited  in  the  cold,  stone-floored 
room,  but  eight  o'clock  finally  came 
and  we  hurried  down  eager  for  coffee 
and  eggs.  The  dining  room  was  siii 
generis  and  the  cloth  and  napkins 
were  not  above  reproach,  but  we 
managed  to  make  out  a  fair  meal 
with  the  exception  of  the  bread, 
which  was  hard  and  sour ;  and  then 
sallied  out  to  do  the  town. 

Bastia  is  rather  a  decent  town  to 
the  view  and  the  architecture  is  solid 
and  not  altogether  in  the  flimsy 
stucco  of  Italy.  There  are  no  hand- 
some public  buildings,  except  the 
theatre,  which  is  built  on  the  lines  of 
an  old  Greek  temple.  In  the  square 
on  the  water  front,  where  the  raw- 
recruits  are  drilled,  is  a  huge  statue 
of  the  first  Napoleon  in  the  toga  and 
laurel  wreath  of  a  Roman  Consul. 
It  is  of  heroic  size  and  dazzlingly 
white  and  seems  to  dominate  every- 
thing in  its  immediate  neighbour- 
hood. Of  course  the  Corsicans  are 
inordinately  proud  of  Napoleon,  and 
one  cannot  converse  for  five  minutes 
with  an  ordinary  inhabitant  without 
his  remarking  nonchalantly  that 
Corsica  has  produced  the  greatest 
military  genius  of  the  world. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


The  islanders  are  a  curious  cross 
between  the  French  and  Italian  types, 
perhaps  inclining  more  to  the  latter. 
The  language  is  a  patois  of  French 
and  Italian,  with  a  few  Spanish  words, 
and  is  hard  to  comprehend,  but  any- 
one understanding  good  Italian  can 
easily  manage.  It  is  really  yet  a 
question  to  what  country  Corsica 
should  strictly  belong,  for  it  has 
tasted  the  rule  of  many  nations.  It 
knew  the  yoke  of  both  the  Roman 
and  Byzantine  Empires,  and  belonged 
in  turn  to  the  Republics  of  Genoa 
and  Pisa  in  the  middle  ages  ;  when 
the  short-lived  King  Theodore  raised 
the  standard  of  revolt,  too  soon 
lowered.  Then  the  patriot,  Pasquale 
Paoli,  ruled  the  island  from  1755  to 
1769,  when  the  Genoese  transferred 
their  claim  to  the  island  to  France, 
which  has  since  annexed  it. 

It  is  absurd  to  say  that  Vendetta 
has  died  out,  for  it  is  still  popular  in 
the  island  to  an  almost  incredible 
extent,  and  anyone  refusing  to  con- 
tinue a  blood  feud  when  his  plain 
duty  would  be  to  avenge  his  ancestor 
would  soon  have  the  Rimbecco  sung 
under  his  windows.  A  thirst  for 
blood  seems  ingrained  in  the  Corsi- 
can  nature,  and  few  families  in  either 
the  upper  or  lower  classes  of  the 
island  are  without  their  hereditary 
feud.      This   custom   is   said   to  be 


14  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

worse  now  than  under  the  Second 
Empire,  and  is  particularly  prevalent 
round  about  Corte.  It  originated 
when  the  Genoese  ruled  the  island 
and  male  members  were  obliged  to 
take  the  honour  of  their  family  into 
their  own  keeping.  There  are  sev- 
eral strict  laws  in  existence  enacted 
against  this  barbarous  practice,  but 
they  have  fallen  into  disuse  and  are 
unregarded. 

I  have  several  times  been  asked 
what  the  principal  industry  of  Bastia 
was.  The  only  answer  that  occurs  to 
me  is  to  say  stilettoes,  for  really  all 
the  shops  seem  to  have  inexhaustible 
supplies  of  this  keen,  murderous  little 
blade.  Not  only  are  they  sold  in  the 
guise  of  weapons,  but  as  charms,  as 
brooches,  as  sleeve  buttons,  as  scarf 
pins — in  coral,  lava,  gold,  silver  and 
brass.  Even  the  pawnbrokers  dis- 
play second-hand  stilettoes  in  their 
windows,  several  of  them  covered 
with  a  rust  that  has  been  blood.  To 
a  stranger,  all  this  gives  Bastia  a 
savage  air,  and  when  he  thinks 
of  the  hotels  and  the  food  he  is  apt 
to  start  for  the  station  or  the  dock. 
But  Vendetta  is  confined  strictly  to 
local  affairs,  and  it  is  very  rare  to 
find  a  case  where  strangers  have 
been  brought  into  family  feuds. 
The  literature  of  Vendetta  is  rich. 
The    famous    ''  Corsican    Brothers," 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  15 

"Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York,"  Marie 
Corelli's  "  Vendetta,"  and  Prosper 
Merrimee's  delightful  "  Colomba  " 
all  dwell  on  the  subject. 

But  besides  Vendetta,  which  exists 
only  in  this  island  ;  Corsica  shares 
with  Sardinia  the  honour  of  being  the 
only  place  in  Europe  where  the 
moufflon  is  now  found,  and  so  attracts 
numbers  of  English  sportsmen,  who, 
however,  land  usually  at  Ajaccio. 
Few  tourists  reach  Bastia.  Ajaccio 
is  a  sort  of  health  resort,  modeled 
after  the  places  on  the  Riviera  and 
is  only  a  second-rate  imitation  at 
best  ;  but  Bastia  is  a  quiet,  semi- 
commercial  little  town,  on  the  sea, 
with  huge  mountains  at  its  back,  and 
content  to  dream  away  its  time  in 
ignorant  obscurity.  All  traces  of  the 
old  island  costumes  have  disappeared 
and  one  does  not  know  whether  to 
be  amused  or  sad  at  the  pathetic 
attempt  to  imitate  French  fashions. 
The  older  streets  in  Bastia  are  curi- 
ous. They  differ  from  those  of  most 
old  Italian  towns  in  being  paved  with 
large,  flat  stones  and  are  kept  scrupu- 
lously clean,  showing  their  French 
origin.  The  old  citadel,  built  in 
1383,  is  worth  a  visit  for  the  sake  of 
its  curious  walls.  In  poking  about 
among  the  old  curiosity  shops  I  un- 
earthed a  valuable  souvenir.  It  was 
an  old  bronze  medal,  bearing  on  one 


l6  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

side  "  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte," 
with  his  portrait,  and  on  the  other 
"  Pour  Valeur."  It  had  evidently 
been  given  as  a  reward  of  valor  by 
Napoleon  III.  in  the  eventful  two 
years  when  he  was  Prince-President, 
before  the  coup  d'etat^  and  I  have 
since  ascertained  its  rarity.  A  drive 
in  the  country  about  Bastia  shows  a 
landscape  rich  in  hills  and  pines,  but 
in  nothing  else. 

A  diligent  search  among  the  gro- 
cers' shops  finally  unearthed  a  tin 
of  "  picnic  tongue,"  and  we  feasted 
on  that  and  on  some  Albert  biscuits 
to  save  ourselves  a  return  to  the  too 
odourous  hotel  dining  room.  We  did 
not  regret  sailing  for  Sardinia  that 
night,  as  we  hoped  to  find  there 
what  we  had  missed  in  Corsica  — 
clean  beds  and  decent  food. 


ALONG    THE    RIVIERA. 


ANNES. — Any  one  with  a 
liking  for  titles,  that  is, 
English  titles,  which  are 
the  only  ones  worth  hav- 
ing, is  sure  to  be  grati- 
fied at  Cannes.  For  Cannes  is  like 
Bournemouth,  select  and  expensive. 
At  the  Prince  de  Galles  Hotel  in 
Cannes  the  other  day,  when  the  reg- 
ister was  brought  to  me  to  sign,  I 
noticed  that  for  five  pages  mine  was 
the  only  name  of  a  commoner. 
Earls  were  as  thick  as  blackberries 
and  there  were  Viscounts  galore. 
This  explains  why  so  few,  compara- 
tively, are  met  with  at  the  other 
Riviera  resorts.  Cannes  is  par  ex- 
cellence an  English  resort,  and  woe 
betide  the  bourgeois  P'renchman  or 
spectacled  German  who  innocently 
happens  upon  one  of  its  mammoth 
hotels ;  and  many  are  the  shivers 
that  shake  his  Jager-oXoXkitdi  frame  at 
the  numerous  open  windows  and  de- 
lightful draughts  of  fresh  air  that 
are  so  home-like  to  an  Englishman 
or  a  civilized  American. 

Like  Bournemouth,  Cannes  is  rich 
in  pines  and  poor  in  shops  and  cabs. 
But  here  every  one  brings  their  own 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


turn-out,   and  few  teams   are  to  be 
seen     without    both     footman     and 
coachman  in  some  well-known  Lon- 
don livery.     For  amusements  Cannes 
is  a  poor  place,  that  is,  for  theatres ; 
but  there  is  plenty  of  tennis,  which 
one    may,    if    properly    introduced, 
play  with  Russian  Grand-Duchesses 
or    Austrian    Archdukes ;     and    the 
Grand  Duke  Michael  is  working  up 
some    excitement    over    golf    links. 
He  did  me  the  honour  to  ask  for  my 
subscription,    but    as    I    am    not    in 
Cannes    en   permanence    I    was    not 
obliged  to  subscribe.     One  can  go  to 
twenty  teas  in  an  afternoon,  if  one 
is    so   disposed,   and    ^'- pique-niques^' 
dances   and   dinners  are  almost  too 
numerous    to    count.      At    Rumpel- 
mayer's  the  ^^  Hig-Hf"  of  Cannes,  as 
the  French  call  it,  is  to  be  met  be- 
tween   five    and    six    o'clock,    when 
most  of  the  habitue's  of  Rotten  Row 
happen  in  for  a  cup  of  the  delicious 
chocolate    tempered    with    whipped 
cream  of  which  Rumpelmayer  makes 
a  specialty.     All  the  villa  owners  at 
Cannes  (for  there  are  very  few  villas 
rented  here  ;    if  one  wants  a  house 
in  Cannes  one  must  build  it)  send  to 
Regent    Street    for    whatever    they 
want,     consequently     no     shops    at 
Cannes  but  those  making  a  specialty 
of  kitchen  necessaries  or  provisions 
have  any  raison  d'etre  and  they  are 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  19 

not  missed.  Most  of  the  hotels 
have  good  Ubraries,  and  one  can 
lounge  away  days  in  the  palm- 
shaded  garden,  watching  the  sun- 
shine dance  and  sparkle  upon  the 
rich  blue  sea.  There  is  a  restful 
feeling  about  Cannes,  an  aristo- 
cratic repose  and  seclusion  not 
shared  by  any  of  the  other  resorts 
on  the  coast,  except,  perhaps,  in  a 
modified  degree,  by  San  Remo  ;  and 
physicians  say  the  air  here  is  not  so 
stimulating  as  at  Nice  and  Mentone. 
Of  course,  it  is  not  so  stimulating 
as  at  Monte  Carlo,  either,  but  that  is 
for  a  different  reason  ! 

No  one  can  get  a  footing  at  Cannes 
unless  their  social  record  is  unassail- 
able, and  as  it  costs  a  small  fortune  to 
live  here  for  even  a  week,  objection- 
able people  are  kept  away,  and  one 
does  not  meet  the  cockney  Londoner 
who  drops  his  h's  promiscuously 
or  the  shoddy  American  who  speaks 
with  a  twang  and  is  always  looking 
for  a  spittoon.  Even  the  cooking  is 
English  at  Cannes,  and  cold  "ros-bif  " 
and  pickles  with  a  tankard  of  ale  and 
a  bit  of  apple  tart  (than  which  there 
is  no  more  palatable  luncheon)  often 
forms  the  meal  of  some  hearty  party 
of  Britons.  One  leaves  Cannes  with 
regret ;  and  a  sigh  for  its  quiet  pleas- 
ures as  one  is  whirled  into  the  noisy, 
huge  station  at  Nice. 


20  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

One  finds  here  a  very  different  at- 
mosphere. All  is  gaiet}',  noise  and 
bustle.  Splendid  shops  thrust  their 
wonderfulh^  arranged  windows  upon 
one's  notice.  Redfern's  name  ap- 
pears in  gilt  with  the  Prince  of 
Wales'  plumes  above  it,  and  many 
names  familiar  to  frequenters  of  the 
Paris  jewellers'  shops  are  met  with. 
Strolling  along  the  Quai  Massena 
one  could  spend  hours  simply  look- 
ing in  the  shop  windows  at  pearl  pins 
marked  at  ^i,ooo,  or  at  some  little 
pink  emerald  worth  a  fortune  simply 
because  it  does  not  happen  to  be 
green.  And  the  famous  Galignani 
library  is  not  to  be  ignored,  with  its 
fascinating  display  of  all  the  latest 
London  books  and  the  Christmas 
numbers  of  the  English  papers 
with  their  half-hidden  pictures  of 
Santa  Claus  ;  nor  the  huge  Casino 
and  Winter  Garden  where  one  pays 
two  francs  for  a  ticket  of  admission, 
good  for  the  whole  day,  where  read- 
ing-rooms and  the  latest  telegrams 
of  Reuter's  Agency  tempt  one  to 
settle  down  for  several  hours. 
There,  in  the  domed  central  garden, 
among  hundreds  of  palms  and  trop- 
ical plants,  one  can  listen  to  a  cap- 
ital band  while  having  an  ice  from 
the  Nice  Bignon's. 

There,  too,   one  may  see  a  good 
exhibition  of  marionettes,   a  sort  of 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  2  1 

glorified  Punch  and  Judy  show, 
where  all  the  gilded  infancy  of  Nice 
congregates  to  enjoy  the  fun.  And 
one  can  waste  hours  over  the  petits 
chevaux ;  where,  on  a  huge,  green- 
clothed  table,  six  small  horses  are 
wound  up,  and  race  around  a  circle, 
bets  being  made  upon  the  colour  and 
number  of  the  winner.  In  the 
height  of  the  season  the  manage- 
ment is  said  to  make  3,000  francs 
per  day  out  of  this  simple  amuse- 
ment. At  the  far  end  of  this  pleas- 
ant Jardin  d'Hiver  is  the  entrance 
to  the  small  play-house  connected 
with  it ;  but  the  companies  who  per- 
form here  are  not  above  reproach  ; 
except  during  Carnival,  when  no  ex- 
pense is  spared  to  secure  the  best 
talent,  and  the  Paris  play-houses  are 
called  upon  to  contribute  their  best 
actors  for  the  edilication  of  the  vis- 
itors. A  stroll  among  the  Nice 
shops  in  the  evening  is  delightful,  in 
the  warm  balmy  air,  with  the  moon- 
light over  all  and  the  echo  of  some 
mandolin  concert  in  the  distance. 
One  can  listen  to  street  musicians  in 
this  sunny  land  without  any  fear  of 
hearing  "Comrades"  or  "Ask  a 
P'leeceman,"  and  may  even  reason- 
ably expect  something  decent  in  the 
way  of  selections  from  "Carmen" 
or  "  Dinorah,"  both  of  which  are 
prime    favorites    among    the    lower 


22  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

classes.  Nice  has  long  had  a  muni- 
cipal theatre,  but  this  is  not  well  sup- 
ported, and  the  most  flourishing  es- 
tablishment of  this  sort  in  the  town 
is  a  huge  music  hall  or  cafe  concert^ 
which  does  a  roaring  business. 
Sweet-shops  abound  in  Nice  and  are 
a  never-ending  surprise  to  English 
folk,  who  very  sensibly  put  them 
down  to  the  increasing  number  of 
Americans  who  come  here.  A  huge 
Casino  has  just  been  built  on  the  end 
of  a  long  pier  stretching  out  into  the 
sea,  and  they  tell  an  amusing  tale  of 
the  way  in  which  the  gambling  privi- 
lege was  secured.  An  unsuccessful 
appeal  had  been  made  to  the  Mayor, 
M.  Henry,  and  the  speculators  were 
in  despair  until  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  them  that  their  establishment  was 
not  on  land,  but  at  sea,  and  so  they 
appealed  to  the  Minister  of  Marine 
at  Paris  with  better  success. 
Charming  drives  abound  in  every 
direction  around  Nice,  and  coaches 
go  over  to  Monte  Carlo  every  few 
hours.  There  is  but  one  drawback 
to  Nice  as  a  place  of  residence  — 
the  increased  number  of  the  de- 
scendants of  Israel  who  are  making 
it  a  seaside  synagogue.  Fashion 
has  deserted  it  for  Cannes,  but  it 
will  always  be  the  favoured  resort 
of  the  gay  and  the  bored  —  those 
who    do    not   care    for  society,    and 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


for  whom  society  does  not  care. 
The  change  to  the  small  station  of 
Monte  Carlo  and  the  gaudily-orna- 
mented lift  that  slowly  rises  to  the 
bluff  above  is  marked.  For  pure 
luxury  and  the  highest  degree  of 
comfort  Monte  Carlo  ranks  next  to 
Paris.  Take  the  Hotel  de  Paris, 
next  the  Casino,  for  instance,  an  es- 
tablishment owned  and  conducted 
by  the  Casino  company.  Soft  vel- 
vet carpets  into  which  one's  foot 
sinks,  Wedgwood  toilet  sets,  and 
easy  chairs  that  would  not  look 
out  of  place  in  Belgravia,  are  the 
distinguishing  characteristics  of  the 
bedrooms  ;  and  there  is  not  a  gas 
lamp  in  the  place  ;  hundreds  of  little 
wax  candles,  each  shaded  by  a  deep 
red  shade,  give  light ;  and  when  one 
is  enjoying  the  cooking,  which  is  a 
dream  in  itself,  and  drinking  in  all 
the  beauty  and  elegance,  it  is  hard  to 
remember  that  one  is  in  what  has 
been  called  the  most  wicked  place  on 
earth.  The  Bishop  of  Gibraltar  con- 
siders it  so  abandoned,  in  fact,  that 
he  has  refused  to  license  a  Chaplain 
or  consecrate  a  Church — queer  logic 
on  His  Lordship's  part,  who  seems  to 
go  on  the  principle  that  the  worse 
the  place  the  less  necessity  for  a 
Church.  And  yet  the  villa  holders 
of  Monte  Carlo  form  a  very  respect- 
able  class.      The   late    Mr.   Junius 


24  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Morgan  had  a  villa  here  and  many 
other  well-known  names  might  be 
cited.  The  place  is  charmingly 
small  and  centres  round  about  the 
immense  and  beautiful  Casino.  Ask 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Principality  of 
Monaco  what  they  think  of  the 
Casino  and  the  gambling  company. 
They  will  reply  that  it  is  an  unmixed 
blessing.  For  the  company  pays 
the  taxes  of  the  little  realm,  keeps  all 
the  roads  and  public  works  in  good 
repair ;  and  poverty  is  almost  un- 
known. The  inhabitants  are  allowed 
to  enter  the  gambling  rooms  but  one 
day  in  the  year — on  the  fete  day  of 
the  Prince  of  Monaco.  Strangers 
gain  admission  to  the  rooms  by  pre- 
sentation of  their  visiting  cards,  and 
without  them  are  not  allowed  en- 
trance. A  droll  tale  is  told  of  the 
application  of  this  rule  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Salisbury.  He  was  going  to 
the  rooms  with  a  party  and  not  hav- 
ing any  visiting  card  with  him  was 
stopped  by  the  gigantic  doorkeeper. 
He  was  somewhat  angry  at  this  and 
drew  himself  up,  saying,  in  very 
English  French  :  "  Mais  j\u  ne  pas 
besoin  crime  carte  de  visite.  Je  suis  le 
Marquis  de  Salisbury^  Premier  d'An- 
gleterre."  But  the  doorkeeper  still 
refused  and  would  not  let  him  in. 
He  afterwards  explained  his  incre- 
dulity by  saying  to  a  friend  :    "  How 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  25 

could  I  believe  he  was  Milord  Salis- 
bury and  the  Prime  Minister  of 
England?  He  wore  a  tweed  suit 
and  had  his  trousers  turned  up." 
This  brother  evidently  derived  his 
idea  of  the  appearance  of  a  Marquis 
from  the  Italian  article  of  that  name, 
which  is  usually  greasy,  and  fear- 
fully and  wonderfully  attired. 

The  Casino  at  Monte  Carlo  and 
its  tables  have  been  often  described  ; 
but  the  crowds  that  linger  three 
deep  about  the  green  cloth  are  al- 
ways fascinating  to  watch.  Grande 
dames  and  cocottes  elbow  each  other, 
and  English  statesmen  rub  shoul- 
ders with  Parisian  blacklegs.  The 
day  I  was  there  I  saw  the  Due  de 
Dino  (who  married  Mrs.  Stevens, 
of  New  York,)  philosophically  drop 
^^2,000,  and  stand  it  better  than 
a  young  man  who  lost  five  francs 
at  roulette.  But  the  saddest  thing 
of  all  was  to  see  young  girls  of  eight- 
een or  twenty  (the  rule  is  not  to 
admit  anyone  under  twenty-one,  but 
of  course  the  officials  are  often  hood- 
winked) with  "systems,"  pressing 
close  to  the  table  and  pricking  num- 
ber after  number  on  their  cards  as 
they  eagerly  follow  a  run  on  the  red 
or  the  black.  These  people  are 
always  sure  they  will  some  day  break 
the  bank,  and  linger  on  from  day  to 
day  and  from  week  to  week  leaving 


26         "      AS    THE    CROW    FLIES, 

whole  fortunes  in  the  maw  of  the  re- 
morseless "Administration."  Each 
additional  week  seems  to  add  to  the 
strained,  eager  look  in  their  eyes, 
the  drawn,  pinched  look  about  the 
mouth,  and  the  tell-tale  wrinkles 
about  the  temples  that  proclaim  an 
habitual  gambler.  The  croupiers, 
too,  are  curious  studies,  as  they 
whirl  the  ball  or  deal  the  cards  that 
mean  so  much  to  the  eager  crowd  ; 
cool,  calm,  impassive,  there  is  some- 
thing devilish  about  the  monotonous 
way  in  which  they  call  '^  Faites  vos 
Jeiix,  Afessieurs"  or  '■''  Le  jeu  est  fait. 
Rieii  ne  va  plus."  Some  of  them,  it 
is  easy  to  see,  have  come  down  in  the 
world  ;  and  one  man  was  shown  to 
me  who  had  filled  a  high  position 
in  a  crack  British  regiment,  before 
he  had  been  detected  cheating  at 
cards  and  had  been  ruined  for  life. 
I  may  not  give  his  name  or  all  the 
facts  in  the  case,  but  it  bore  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  Sir  William  Gor- 
don-Cummings'  "  accident." 

There  is  a  peculiar  class  of  harp- 
ies in  the  Casino,  but  very  well 
dressed  harpies,  who  make  their  liv- 
ing by  "  living  up  "  to  the  table,  so 
to  speak,  and  grabbing  the  winnings 
of  the  lucky  but  slow  players.  Enor- 
mous sums  are  lost  in  this  way  by 
careless  winners,  for  the  ball  (in  rou- 
lette) rolls   so    quickly  around,  and 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  27 

the  croupiers  toss  the  gold  so  quickly 
in  the  general  direction  of  the  win- 
ners, that  a  very  quick  eye  is  needed 
to  spy  one's  property.  The  "  Serie 
jVoir"  has  already  begun  at  Monte 
Carlo,  and  two  suicides  have  oc- 
curred. Of  course  the  "Administra- 
tion" policy  is  to  hush  up  these  little 
matters,  and  whenever  a  dead  body  is 
found  in  the  lonely  gardens  surround- 
ing the  Casino  (about  one  a  fortnight 
is  the  average  during  the  season)  its 
pockets  are  pretty  sure  to  be  filled 
with  gold  and  notes,  placed  there  by 
the  wily  detectives  of  the  Casino,  to 
show  that  the  poor  man  could  not 
have  shot  himself  on  account  of  his 
losses  at  play.  And  rumour  says  that 
they  have  an  admirably  prompt  way 
of  getting  rid  of  the  bodies  of  those 
who  are  thoughtless  enough  to  com- 
mit suicide  on  the  company's  grounds 
without  noise  or  scandal.  An  eye 
witness  told  me  the  following  tale  of 
a  tragedy  in  the  rooms  last  year, 
which  he  vouches  for :  about  ten 
o'clock  at  night,  when  everything 
was  in  full  swing  and  the  rooms  were 
crowded  with  well-dressed  people  (no 
shabby-looking  character  is  ever  ad- 
mitted ;  and  the  devil  in  this  case  is 
certainly  "  in  society  "),  a  shot  was 
suddenly  heard,  and  a  handsome 
young  fellow,  pale  as  death,  stag- 
gered  from   the    Trente  et  Qitarante 


28 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


table  with  his  hand  to  his  bleeding 
side.  He  fell  with  a  crash,  and  at 
once,  like  lightning,  a  crowd  of  the 
Casino  detectives  had  closed  around 
him,  opened  a  window  overlooking 
the  sea,  and  thrown  him  out  upon 
the  rocks  below.  So  quickly  did 
this  take  place  that  not  six  people 
saw  it,  and  the  people  who  inquired 
about  the  disturbance  were  told  that 
a  lady  had  fainted  from  the  heat  and 
from  the  explosion  in  a  gas  pipe. 
The  next  morning  the  dead  body  of 
the  young  man  was  found  on  the 
rocks,  with  his  pockets  filled  with  gold 
and  no  trace  of  a  wound  about  him. 
Lovely  Monte  Carlo  !  It  is  like  a 
decayed  lady-apple  —  lovely  to  look 
on,  but  rotten  at  the  core. 


SAN    REMO. 


AN  REMO.— There  is  a 
certain  apparent  similar- 
ity between  Bournemouth 
and  San  Remo.  Both  are 
"  winter  resorts "  and 
both  are  popular  with  invalids.  But 
this  similarity  is  only  apparent.  Frost 
and  snow  were  rife  at  Bournemouth 
a  month  ago.  Sunshine  and  ripe 
oranges  on  the  trees  are  en  evidence 
at  San  Remo  now.  One  shudders 
here,  to  think  of  _  Bournemouth  in 
winter,  just  as  in  Bournemouth  the 
idea  of  the  Lake  District  out  of 
summer  was  repelling. 

The  climate  of  the  Riviera  is  not 
perfect,  by  any  means,  but  unless 
one  goes  to  Honolulu  or  to  "the 
Cape,"  it  is  hard  to  do  better  for  the 
winter.  And  yet  it  is  not  a  tropical 
climate — or  even  sub-tropical,  simply 
one  with  a  more  or  less  genial 
warmth  in  the  winter  time. 

San  Remo  is  not  so  "mixed"  in 
its  society  as  Nice,  so  renowned  for 
suicides  as  Monte  Carlo,  or  so  vault- 
like as  Mentone. 

Cannes  is  the  only  place  on  the 
coast  that  approaches  San  Remo 
(and,   indeed,   outdoes  it,  so  far  as 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


exclusiveness  in  the  "  English  Col- 
ony," which  includes  the  small 
American  contingent,  goes)  ;  but 
Cannes  is  really  a  slice  cut  out  of 
Belgravia  and  set  down  by  the  Med- 
iterranean, and  one  may  be  in  the 
height  of  the  London  Season  all 
winter  there,  Cannes  is  popularly 
referred  to  as  the  "  Dukeries,"  on 
account  of  the  number  of  English 
Dukes  spending  the  winter  there. 
But  to  a  person  liking  society  in 
moderation  with  a  few  good  dances 
sprinkled  in  during  the  winter  and  a 
fair  amount  of  tennis,  San  Remo  is 
an  ideal  place.  Knickerbockers  and 
cricketing  flannels  are  frequently 
seen,  and  there  is  none  of  that  striv- 
ing after  effect  so  much  found  at 
Cannes,  where  top  hats  and  frock 
coats  are  {/e  rigeur  most  of  the  time. 

San  Remo  is  near  the  French 
frontier  and  so,  of  course,  is  a  queer 
mixture  of  French  and  Italian  vil- 
lage life  (for  it  has  only  seventeen 
thousand  inhabitants).  It  is  thirty- 
six  hours  from  London  and  easily 
reached  either  by  the  P.  L.  and  M. 
Railway,  by  way  of  Lyons  and  Mar- 
seilles, or  by  Milan  and  Geneva,  via 
the  Mont-Cenis  tunnel. 

The  old  town,  or  Citta  Vecc/iia, 
is  built  on  a  hill  away  from  the  sea, 
and  the  steep  streets  are  crowded  to- 
gether pell-mell  on  the  nearly  perpen- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  3 1 

dicular  hillside.  Bradshaw's  Guide 
refers  to  them  as  "steep,  mediaeval 
streets";  but,  although  I  admit  the 
steepness,  I  have  never  discovered  the 
mediaevalism  —  unless  the  abundant 
dirt  and  endless  supply  of  unsavoury- 
smells  may  be  taken  to  represent  it. 
Of  course,  the  dark,  narrow  lanes  are 
garlic-haunted,  and  that  reminds  me 
of  a  story  I  heard  here.  At  the  old 
Cathedral,  an  English  piriest  was 
talking  to  an  Italian  peasant  woman 
about  the  next  world.  She  was  giv- 
ing her  ideas  on  the  subject  and 
ended  up  a  glowing  rhapsody  in  this 
way:  "And,  oh,  our  Holy  Father, 
the  Pope,  will  be  there  on  a  great 
golden  throne,  smiling  at  the  faith- 
ful;  with  big  bunches  of  our  angelic 
garlic  under  his  chair  to  give  to 
each  of  his  flock  as  St.  Peter  brings 
them  to  him."  If  that  idea  of  Para- 
dise were  presented  to  many  good 
Christians,  I  fear  their  faith  might 
be  shaken,  for  of  all  the  sickening, 
clinging  odours,  a  whiff  of  garlic- 
scented  air  is  the  worst. 

This  old  town  is  nearly  devoid  of 
interest.  There  are  even  no  curio 
shops,  and  after  one  walk  the  aver- 
age English  tourist  comes  back  to 
his  hotel  to  "take  a  tub,"  and  leaves 
its  mysteries  undisturbed  in  future. 
To  any  one,  however,  brave  enough 
to  pick  his  way  through  the  over- 


32  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

hanging  alleys  and  dark  streets,  up 
to  the  ver)^  top  of  the  hill,  an  old 
church  presents  itself,  the  "  Ma- 
donna della  Costa,"  where  there  is  a 
wonderful  picture  of  the  Virgin  which 
is  supposed  to  be  a  certain  cure  for 
leprosy.  (The  method  of  applying 
the  cure  is  an  unsolved  mystery.) 

Most  people  here  go  to  Mentone 
to  get  gloves  and  stockings,  and 
smuggle  them  back  over  the  fron- 
tier to  avoid  paying  the  absurd 
prices  asked  in  San  Re  mo.  The 
new  town  is  built  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  and  consists  of  two  streets,  with 
a  few  good  shops,  where  the  trades- 
men speak  bad  French  and  charge 
enormous  prices  for  the  necessaries 
of  life.  On  each  side  of  this  new 
town  stretch  the  English  and  Ger- 
man colonies,  the  English  settling  at 
the  west  end  and  the  Teutons  pre- 
ferring the  east.  Ever  since  the 
Emperor  Frederick  lived  in  a  villa 
here  the  east  end  has  been  a  resort 
for  patriotic  Germans  who  want  the 
warm  breezes  of  the  Riviera,  but  do 
not  care  to  enjoy  them  on  French 
territory.  It  is  not  the  most  pleas- 
ant part  of  the  town,  and  English 
and  Americans  are  very  chary  of 
settling  there,  as  the  more  aristo- 
cratic west  end  turns  the  cold  shoul- 
der to  the  unfortunate  villa  holders 
and  dwellers  in  hotels  and  pensions 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  T,^ 

at  the  east  end,  and  has  a  ten- 
dency to  consider  them  doubtful  or 
declasse. 

The  west  end  has  all  the  best 
hotels  and  pensions  as  well  as  villas 
scattered  along  the  pretty  Prom- 
enade overlooking  the  sea  and  bor- 
dered with  wide-branching  date 
palms.  The  Promenade  ends  in 
lovely  gardens,  and  both  Promenade 
and  gardens  are  called  after  the  late 
Empress  of  Russia,  who  spent  a 
winter  here  early  in  the  seventies. 
The  Promenade  is  used  as  a  scene 
for  "church  parade"  after  service 
on  Sunda}^  mornings  by  the  English 
colony,  and  ever}'  afternoon,  from 
four  onward,  one  ma}^  meet  the 
world  and  his  wife  there.  The 
municipal  band  plays  twice  a  week 
in  the  public  gardens,  but  the  per- 
formance—  a  rather  poor  one  —  is 
attended  mainly  by  Italians.  The 
language  of  San  Remo  is  a  curious 
patois  made  up  of  Ligurian  Italian  — 
very  different  to  the  pure  Lingua 
Toscana  of  Florence,  and  the  bastard 
French  heard  in  Nice  and  Cannes. 

Five  days  in  every  week  are  bright 
and  sunny,  one  of  the  remaining 
two  is  usually  cloudy  and  the  other 
rainy.  The  average  temperature  is 
fifty-two  degrees  in  winter.  The 
winds  are  hardly  ever  troublesome, 
as  the  high  chain  of  hills  behind  the 


34  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

town  act  as  a  natural  barrier. 
Among  the  many  bad  shops  there  is 
one  really  good  one  :  Squire's,  the 
English  chemist's,  who  dubs  himself 
(but  by  real  Letters  Patent)  "  Court 
Chemist  to  the  late  German  Em- 
peror and  to  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince 
of  Wales." 

When  the  late  Emperor  Frederick 
was  ill  here  in  '88  at  his  villa  and  all 
his  affairs  and  correspondence  were 
in  confusion,  his  much-loved  wife, 
the  popular  Empress  Victoria  (who 
looks  so  much  like  her  mother,  the 
Queen  of  England)  used  to  have  all 
her  English  letters  sent  to  the  villa 
enclosed  in  this  chemist's  prescrip- 
tion envelopes,  to  keep  them  safe 
from  Bismarck's  spies  ;  for  the  rela- 
tions, never  very  cordial,  between 
the  grim  Chancellor  and  the  Illus- 
trious Lady  were  then  at  a  dangerous 
tension  and  the  friends  of  the  Em- 
press claimed  that  he  did  not 
scruple  to  confiscate  her  private  let- 
ters from  the  English  Court  when  he 
could  get  hold  of  them.  The  young 
Princesses  were  very  fond  of  taking 
long  walks  in  the  endless  olive 
groves  about  San  Remo,  and  sketch- 
ing the  town  from  either  of  the  two 
high  rocks  that  shut  in  the  bay  on 
each  side. 

A  pretty  peasant  girl  in  a  small 
fruit  shop  near  the  Emperor's  villa 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  35 

made  a  small  fortune  by  selling 
mouldy  pears  and  sour  oranges  to 
enthusiastic  British  tourists  who 
thronged  the  shop,  because  the  Em- 
press Victoria  had  made  a  lovely 
study  of  her  in  oils,  which  has  ap- 
peared in  a  London  exhibition. 

Another  permanent  memorial  of 
the  visit  of  the  Royal  Family  to  San 
Remo  is  the  constant  appearance  of 
the  highly-gilt  arms  of  the  Hohen- 
zoUerns  over  most  of  the  shops  in  the 
new  town,  which,  one  and  all,  describe 
themselves  as  "Court  Grocer  to  the 
Emperor  Frederick  "  ;  "  Court  Boot- 
maker to  the  Imperial  Family," 
when  possibly  the  chef  may  have 
bouQ-ht  some  candles  from  the  one 
and  the  Emperor's  valet  may  have 
been  measured  for  a  pair  of  boots  at 
the  other.  I  have  even  seen  the  ad- 
vertising card  of  one  "Guiseppa 
Candia,  Court  Laundress  to  the  Ger- 
man Empress." 

The  English  set  in  San  Remo 
is  charming  and  very  hospitable 
when  one  comes  with  letters  of  in- 
troduction. The  leading  English 
physician.  Dr.  Freeman,  and  his  wife 
are  always  ready  to  extend  the 
courtesies  of  the  place  to  fresh  ar- 
rivals ;  and  any  visitor  at  the  Eng- 
lish Club  will  easily  recall  the  jovial 
person  of  Mr.  Benecke.  But  when 
one  comes  without  letters  or  other 


;^6  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


credentials,  the  English  colony  can 
be  very  freezing ;  as  a  third-rate 
American  author  found  some  years 
since,  when,  with  his  wife,  he  tried 
to  take  the  town  by  storm. 

The  country  round  about  San 
Remo  is  full  of  pleasant  walks.  Os- 
pedaletti  is  only  two  miles  away,  and 
one  may  take  a  charming  walk  there 
and  back  in  the  afternoon.  It  is 
an  interesting  place,  albeit  a  dreary 
one,  for  it  is  the  monument  of  a  great 
failure.  Some  years  ago  a  great  In- 
ternational Company  bought  up  all 
the  land  along  the  lovely  bay,  built 
splendid  hotels  and  shops,  made 
good  roads  and  put  up  the  magnifi- 
cent Casino  still  to  be  seen  there. 
The  shares  were  at  a  high  premium 
and  every  one  was  sure  the  com- 
pany would  make  a  huge  fortune, 
and  so  it  would  if  it  had  not  ne- 
glected the  trifling  formality  of  ob- 
taining the  consent  of  King  Hum- 
bert to  the  establishment  of  a  large 
gambling  hell  in  his  dominions. 
The  result  was  that  he  stepped  in  at 
the  last  minute  and  intimated  that 
while  he  had  no  objections  to  a 
Casino,  he  was  not  prepared  to  allow 
games  of  chance.  Of  course,  this 
ruined  not  only  the  company,  but 
the  place,  for  Ospedaletti's  only 
ratson  d'etre  was  in  the  Casino,  and 
the   Casino's   in    the    roulette    table. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  37 

The  hotels  and  shops  are  all  closed 
now  and  the  beautiful  building  is 
gradually  falling  to  pieces  from  de- 
cay. The  roads  are  all  overgrown, 
and  a  few  poor  Italian  families  are 
the  only  representatives  of  the  gay 
world  that  was  to  make  Ospedaletti 
a  successful  rival  of  Monte  Carlo. 

Then,  beyond,  is  the  town  of  Bor- 
dighera,  an  Anglo-Italian  resort 
nearer  the  frontier  and  especially 
loved  by  consumptives.  George 
McDonald,  the  Scotch  author,  has  a 
beautiful  house  there  and  his  daugh- 
ters are  famous  in  the  tennis  courts 
along  the  Riviera.  Bordighera  is  a 
garden  of  palms  and  supplies  all  the 
churches  of  Rome  on  Palm  Sunday. 

A  more  interesting  walk  from  San 
Remo  is  to  take  the  Corniche  road  as 
far  as  the  Pietra  Lunga  on  the  east 
side  of  San  Remo,  and  then  to  strike 
inland  through  the  olive  groves  until 
one  finds  the  dreary  village  of  Bus- 
sana,  a  place  totally  destroyed  by 
the  earthquake  of  1886.  The  ruins 
of  the  quaint  old  church  are  still 
shown  (with  the  inevitable  mono- 
gram of  the  Virgin  on  everything), 
where  a  service  was  being  held 
when  the  first  shock  came  on  that 
eventful  Sunday.  The  peasants  say 
there  are  still  bodies  hidden  under 
the  massive  masonry  and  swear  that 
the  place  is  haunted.     This  was  the 


38  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

earthquake  that  startled  Cannes 
early  on  the  same  morning,  when 
walls  were  falling  and  people  flying 
from  the  hotels  and  houses  in  vari- 
ous stages  of  undress.  The  Prince 
of  Wales  was  there  then  on  his 
yearly  visit  to  the  Riviera,  and  one 
of  his  valets  rushed  in  to  call  him 
at  five  o'clock  for  the  hotel  walls  had 
fallen  at  the  back,  and  there  was 
danger  that  the  others  might  go. 
But  the  Prince  only  scolded  the 
valet  sleepily  for  waking  him  and  re- 
fused to  get  up  in  spite  of  the  man's 
entreaties,  finally  turning  over  and 
going  to  sleep  again  amid  the  noise 
of  falling  chimneys  and  crashing 
walls.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  H. 
R.  H.  was  not  injured  and  that  the 
other  walls  did  not  fall. 

The  local  government  of  San 
Remo  is  vested  in  the  Syndic,  the 
jovial  Cavvaliere  Bartolomeo  Aquas- 
ciati,  who  is  practically  elected  for 
life  and  who  has  an  almost  des- 
potic authority  over  the  civil  affairs 
of  the  town  ;  while  the  Sous  Prefect 
is  at  the  head  of  the  police  and  ranks 
above  the  Colonel  of  the  regiment  of 
Bersaglieri  (or  sharpshooters)  now 
here. 

San  Remo  is  particularly  suited, 
on  account  of  its  peculiarly  antisep- 
tic climate,  to  persons  troubled  with 
throat  complaints,  and  several  really 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  39 

wonderful  cures  have  been  wrought 
by  its  balmy  air.  Living  is  much 
cheaper  than  in  Cannes,  Nice  or 
Mentone  ;  there  is  capital  medical 
advice  available,  and  very  pleasant 
society.  The  old  rhyme  that  applies 
to  Zante  : 

"  Zante,   Zante, 
Fior  di  Levante," 

might  be  paraphrased  to  suit  San 
Remo,  for  it  is  certainly  the  fine 
fleur  of  the  Riviera. 


THE    CITY   OF    PALACES. 

ENOA.— Streets  of  pal- 
aces, dingy  and  dirty 
with  the  mould  of  ages, 
but  with  interiors 
adorned  with  all  the 
lavish  luxur}^  of  the  East,  such  is 
Genoa  to  the  cursory  view.  The 
tourist,  rushing  through  the  Cathed- 
ral and  the  Cemetery,  his  Murray  in 
hand  ;  hastily  conning  the  names  of 
old  masters  and  then  going  away 
satisfied,  does  not  begin  to  know  his 
Genoa. 

It  is  a  city  to  linger  in,  to  study 
slowly  and  lovingly,  to  muse  over, 
in  its  deserted  squares  and  sleepy 
parks.  Certainly  it  is  a  famous  in- 
troduction to  Italian  art.  Every  one 
knows  it  was  called  La  Superba  in 
the  old  da3^s,  so  there  is  no  need  for 
me  to  do  anything  but  jot  down  a 
few  random  memories  of  the  place. 
Genoa,  of  course,  is  chiefly  interest- 
ing on  account  of  its  past,  not  its 
present,  but  it  may  be  as  well  to  say 
that  its  capacious  '  harbour  accom- 
modates steamers  sailing  daily  to 
nearly    every    port    in   the   Mediter- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  4I 

ranean  and  that  in  1888  the  total 
tonnage  entered  amounted  to  3,000,- 
000  tons.  The  lanterna  or  light- 
house in  the  harbour  is  old  enough  to 
be  a  curiosity,  for  it  was  built  in 
1547,  and  is  apparently  good  for 
another  couple  of  centuries.  Near 
its  foot  are  the  dockyard  and  arsenal, 
which  were  established  in  1276.  But 
since  i860  the  Italian  government 
has  made  Spezia  its  chief  dockyard, 
to  the  disgust  of  the  Genoese. 

The  one  wide  modern  street  in 
Genoa  is  the  Via  Vittorio  Emanuele, 
on  which  are  all  the  good  hotels.  In 
every  Italian  city  and  village  one 
meets  this  name,  and  a  certain  de- 
gree of  monotony  attaches  to  it 
after  one  has  shopped  in  fifty  or 
sixty  such  streets  in  as  many  towns  ; 
but  it  shows  the  popularity  of  the 
late  king,  //  Re  Galanfuomo^  as  they 
still  call  him.  The  shops  in  this 
street  in  Genoa  are  Parisian  in  every 
way,  and  there  is  an  indescribable 
air  of  cheerfulness  and  gayety  as 
one  moves  along  past  crowds  of 
handsome  black-browed  Italian  wo- 
men. This  word  comes  involun- 
tarily to  one  in  thinking  of  Italian 
women  or  girls.  They  could  never 
be  called  pretty,  or  even  beautiful, 
with  their  dark,  glowing  skins,  large, 
warm  eyes,  thick,  perfectly-curved 
eyebrows,  and  a  more  or  less  faint 


42  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

down  on  the  upper  lip  ;  but  they  are 
undeniably  handsome. 

Then,  too,  their  way  of  walking 
out  in  afternoon  or  evening  in  full 
toilette  and  with  perfectly-arranged 
coiffures,  but  without  hat  or  bonnet,  is 
attractive  and  gives  a  cosy  air  to  the 
open  street.  Behind  our '  hotel  is 
a  long,  glass-covered  arcade  about 
the  length  of  two  city  blocks,  al- 
ways filled  with  a  gay,  chattering 
crowd  of  both  sexes,  who  prom- 
enade up  and  down,  now  stopping 
to  look  at  the  brilliantly-lighted  win- 
dow of  some  shop  rich  in  statues 
and  statuettes  of  Parian  and  Car- 
rara marble,  or  to  sit  at  small  tables 
in  front  of  some  smart  cafe  to  eat  ices, 
or  the  Italian  equivalent,  granita. 

This  arcade  is  one  of  the  sights  of 
the  city  and  forms  one  of  the  most 
attractive  features  of  Genoa.  One 
often  thinks  of  the  gay  scenes  en- 
acted there  nightly,  when  far  away. 

A  walk  about  the  town  is  delight- 
ful, provided  one  is  unfettered  by 
that  abomination,  a  valet-de-place,  or 
local  guide.  Such  narrow  streets 
running  in  all  directions  past  grim 
palaces  and  squalid  houses  (but  all 
of  stone,  for  wood  has  no  part  in 
the  internal  economy  of  Genoese 
building)  ending  frequently  in  some 
odourous  cul  de  sac,  or  doubling  on 
themselves,    to    bring    the    helpless 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  4.3 

wanderer  back  to  his  starting  point, 
after  an  hour's  walk  ! 

The  Cathedral  must  form  the  ob- 
jective point  of  a  first  walk  in 
Genoa.  Indeed,  it  would  be  hard 
to  miss  it,  for  it  is  built  of  squares 
of  black  and  white  marble  and  re- 
sembles an  immense  chess  board  on 
end.  But  there  is  a  pathetic  dignity 
about  it,  for  it  is  very  old. 

It  was  begun  in  the  twelfth  cent- 
ury, and  it  is  most  probable  that 
Columbus  said  his  A7'es  and  Paters 
under  its  vaulted  roof,  for  he  was  a 
native  of  the  erst-while  republic  of 
Genoa,  when  that  power  ruled  the 
Mediterranean  and  boasted,  like 
Venice,  of  a  Doge.  There  is  a  curi- 
ous inscription  above  the  arches 
which  part  the  nave  from  the  aisles, 
near  the  Doge's  gallery,  to  the  effect 
that  the  great-grandson  of  Noah 
founded  Genoa  and  that  the  nave 
was  restored  in  1307. 

But  this  is  only  one  of  the  curi- 
ous things  about  this  curious  Ca- 
thedral, for  the  verger  who  was 
gorgeous  in  his  cocked  hat  and 
wand-of-office,  showed  us  two  huge 
pictures  on  either  side  of  the  high 
altar,  which  had  been  taken  by  the 
great  Napoleon  from  Genoa  to  Paris 
when  he  conquered  Italy  ;  which  had 
gone  thence  to  Vienna  and  had 
finallv  returned  to  their  former  rest- 


44  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

ing  place.  They  showed  the  effect 
of  travel,  but  were  wonderfully  well 
preserved.  One  represented  the 
martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian  —  that 
ever-present  product  of  Italian  gal- 
leries, but  in  this  case  the  arrows 
were  happily  absent.  We  saw,  too, 
the  picture  of  the  Madonna,  painted 
by  St.  Luke  and  alluded  to  by  Mark 
Twain.  It  had  not  grown  at  all 
clearer  since  he  saw  it  twenty  odd 
years  ago. 

A  wonderfully  beautiful  Byzantine 
tomb  was  shown  us  in  John  the  Bap- 
tist's chapel,  and  was  declared  to 
contain  the  ashes  of  that  saint. 
Certainly  it  must  have  been  old,  and 
the  carving  was  exquisitely  done. 
The  original  chains  worn  by  John 
the  Baptist  were  also  shown.  They 
were  very  rusty !  No  woman  but 
the  Queen  is  allowed  in  this  little 
side  chapel,  erected  to  commemorate 
the  crime  of  Herodias,  but  why  Her 
Majesty  should  be  excepted  from 
the  rule  is  not  quite  clear,  unless  we 
accept  the  theory  of  the  divine  right 
of  Kings  which  Kaiser  Wilhelm 
holds  so  strongly.  There  they  also 
show  the  sacro  catina^  supposed  to  be 
made  of  a  single  emerald  given  by  the 
Queen  of  Sheba  to  Solomon.  This 
vessel  formed  part  of  the  spoils  of 
the  Genoese  at  Caesarea  in  iioi.  It 
is  brought  out  of  the  treasury  three 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  45 


times  a  year  for  the  veneration  of 
the  faithful,  but  no  one  is  allowed  to 
touch  it  under  severe  penalties.  But 
as  I  was  admiring  this  and  preparing 
to  enthuse  over  its  associations,  the 
verger  asked  if  I  understood  Latin 
and  immediately  launched  forth  into 
the  original  text  of  the  Excommuni- 
cation pronounced  against  any  fe- 
male who  should  dare  to  enter  that 
saiictuDi  sanctorum  where  John  the 
Baptist  reposed.  But,  alas,  if  his 
accent  was  not  that  I  had  learned  at 
Oxford,  it  was  still  less  that  of  Yale  ; 
and  I  could  only  guess  at  the  mean- 
ing of  most  of  his  sonorous  periods. 
We  left  the  Church  with  this  ava- 
lanche of  mediaeval  Latin  ringing  in 
our  ears.  The  interior,  taken  as  a 
whole,  is  impressive.  The  nave  and 
two  aisles  are  unusually  long,  and 
standing  at  one  end  a  semi-gloomy 
vista  of  respectable  length  is  opened 
up.  There  are  other  Churches  in 
Genoa,  but  none  so  rich  in  tradition 
or  saintly  relics.  The  Via  Balbi  is 
worth  a  visit,  for  there  stand  the 
famous  Palazzo  Rosso  or  Red  Pal- 
ace, built  entirely  of  dark  red  stone  ; 
and  the  Galliera  Palace  with  its  mag- 
nificent collection  of  paintings.  The 
Galliera  family  has  done  much  for 
Genoa  as  well  as  for  Paris.  The 
late  Duke  gave  ;^8o,ooo  to  the 
harbour  works  a  few  years  ago,  and 


46  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

now  the  city  of  Genoa  owns  the  fine 
gallery  of  paintings.  The  Duchess, 
who  has  been  dead  only  a  short  time, 
left  her  splendid  house  in  Paris  to  the 
Austrian  Emperor  to  be  used  as  the 
permanent  house  of  his  Embassy  in 
Paris  and  (as  she  was  childless) 
willed  her  large  private  fortune  to 
the  clever  Empress  Frederick,  Queen 
Victoria's  eldest  daughter,  in  trust 
for  deeds  of  charity. 

A  description  of  one  of  these  im- 
mense palace  galleries  may  stand 
for  all.  Always  there  is  a  grand 
hall  supported  in  part  on  columns 
leading  to  an  arcade-surrounded 
court.  Beyond  comes  the  great 
staircase,  in  two  ascents.  All  this  is 
open  to  the  public  view,  and  the 
long  perspective  of  halls,  courts, 
columns  and  arcades  is  magnificent 
in  the  extreme.  In  a  splendid  suite 
of  rooms  on  the  second  floor  of  this 
Palazzo  Rosso  is  the  largest  collec- 
tion of  pictures  in  Genoa. 

The  Palazzo  Reale  or  Royal  Pal- 
ace is  interesting,  having  been 
splendidly  fitted  up  by  King  Charles 
Albert  in  1842.  There  are  palaces 
innumerable  in  Genoa,  many  rich  in 
historical  interest  and  full  of  pict- 
ures by  the  old  masters,  and  if  one 
were  compiling  a  guide  book  one 
could  write  quires  of  description 
about    gilding    that    cost    a    million 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  47 

francs    in    one,    and    mosaic    floors 
worth  several  fortunes  in  another. 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  Genoa 
is  its  Campo  Santo  or  Holy  Field, 
where  the  noble  families  of  Genoa 
bury  their  dead.  Imagine  vast  ar- 
cades surrounding  an  open  space  of 
several  acres  and  these  arcades 
crowded  with  wonderfully  beautiful 
statues.  Each  family  pays  a  sum 
(no  small  one)  for  a  niche  in  one  of 
these  arcades  with  the  accompany- 
ing vault  beneath  and  then  erects  a 
life-size  statue  of  the  departed,  or 
some  symbolical  figure.  Some  are 
pathetic  and  tender  —  the  fairy-like 
child  dancing  on  roses,  for  example, 
or  the  full-sized  sailing  boat  cross- 
ing the  Styx,  every  rope  and  sail 
wrought  with  wondrous  grace  in 
snowy  marble.  Others  succeed  in 
being  only  grotesque.  One  huge 
figure  of  Father  Time  sitting  cross- 
legored  on  a  coffin  with  his  knee 
cocked  up,  for  instance  ;  or  an  un- 
pleasantly realistic  model  of  an  old 
man  with  one  foot  in  an  open  grave 
with  his  face  turned  over  his  shoul- 
der. This  was  erected  by  an  old 
Count,  still  living,  when  his  wife 
died.  And  so  on  ad  infinitum. 
This  is  a  place  to  muse,  to  think 
grave  thoughts  and  to  reflect  upon 
sudden  death,  but  not  a  place  to  get 
up  an  appetite. 


48  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Genoa  is  an  attractive  city,  al- 
though they  say  that,  unhke  Flor- 
ence and  Pisa,  it  is  not  an  econom- 
ical town  for  strangers  of  limited 
means  and  that  lodgings  are  scarce. 

The  character  of  the  inhabitants 
betrays  little  of  the  fiery  valour  that 
gave  Genoa  its  proud  position  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  Now  its  people  are 
quiet,  hard-working  and  practical  ; 
they  take  little  interest  in  politics 
and  are  well  content  to  live  under  a 
constitutional  Monarchy,  without 
showing  any  disturbing  tendency 
toward  an  anarchistic  Republic. 


THE    NAPOLEONIC    LEGEND. 


OME. — Prince  Napoleon, 
the  head  of  the  Bona- 
parte family  and  de 
jure  Emperor  of 
French,    has     died 


Rome  after  a   long  and  serious 


the 
at 
ill- 
ness, during  the  course  of  which, 
faithful  to  his  declared  principles,  he 
refused  to  accept  a  drop  of  medicine. 
His  has  been  a  strange  and  eventful 
life.  Nephew  of  the  great  Napoleon, 
born  in  Trieste  in  1822,  he  has  been 
four  times  in  exile.  He  was  born  in 
exile  and  he  has  died  in  exile.  One 
of  the  most  brilliant  men  who  ever 
lived,  one  of  the  most  statesmanlike, 
his  whole  life  has  been  ruined,  and 
the  great  promise  of  his  youth 
spoiled,  by  the  cynical  disregard  of 
the  opinion  of  others  which  has  al- 
ways distinguished  him.  He  was  far 
the  superior  of  his  cousin,  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon  IH.,  and  if  his  ad- 
vice had  had  more  weight  with  the 
Emperor,  the  Republic  in  France 
would  still  be  a  hopeless  dream,  and 
the  mud  of  Panama  would  not  have 
soiled  France. 

Prince  Napoleon  had,   of  course 


50  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

no  connection  with  the  coup  d'etat 
of  the  Second  December  that  gave 
Napoleon  III.  the  French  Empire, 
for  his  claims  were  indisputably 
superior  to  those  of  the  successful 
plotter  ;  and  although  a  reconcilia- 
tion did  take  place  between  them, 
their  relations  were  never  very  cor- 
dial, in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
Emperor  placed  great  reliance  upon 
Prince  Napoleon's  judgment.  It 
may  be  safely  said  that  if  Prince 
Napoleon  had  been  in  Paris  during 
the  fatal  days  of  1870,  the  unfortu- 
nate war  with  Prussia  would  never 
have  been  declared.  It  is  ancient 
history  now  that  the  Empress  Eu- 
genie was  the  cause  of  that  war, 
and  in  private  conversation  often 
referred  to  it  as  "  J/c?  Guerre!' 

Not  long  since  I  met  the  famous 
Doctor  Cordes  of  Geneva,  who  had 
been  called  in  consultation  by  the 
Emperor  before  he  started  on  the 
fatal  campaign  that  culminated  in 
Sedan ;  and  he  told  me  that  the 
Emperor  was  simply  a  child  in  the 
hands  of  the  Empress,  for  he  was,  at 
that  time,  suffering  the  most  terrible 
agony  from  stone  in  the  bladder. 
At  that  time,  however,  Prince  Napol- 
eon was  traveling  in  Spitzbergen  with 
his  boil  aniis^  Ernest  Renan,  the 
clever  author  of  the  "  V^ie  de  Jesus," 
and  knew  nothing  of  passing  events. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  5 1 

A  warning  dispatch  was  indeed  sent 
to  him,  but  he  shrugged  his  shoulders 
on  receiving  it  and  remarked  that 
although  the  members  of  the  govern- 
ment in  France  were  ^''  imbeciles^''  still 
they  were  not  all  fools. 

But  events  proved  that  they  were, 
and  Prince  Napoleon  hurried  back 
upon  the  declaration  of  war,  meeting 
with  a  hostile  reception  on  his  way 
through  Scotland,  where  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  people  were  with  Prussia. 
He  found  the  French  Ambassador  in 
London,  M.  de  la  A-'allette,  jubilant 
and  repeating  the  boomerang-like 
phrase,  "  y^  Berlin^  The  Prince 
foretold  the  result  clearly  and  ex- 
actly, and  after  Sedan  quietly  de- 
voted himself  to  scientific  pursuits 
until  the  time  for  the  third  Empire 
should  arrive.  He  had  never  liked 
the  Empress  Eugenie.  He  saw 
clearly  the  mistake  the  Emperor  had 
made  in  not  allying  himself  with  one 
of  the  reigning  houses ;  and  in  es- 
Dousinor  the  beautiful  Mademoiselle 
de  Montijo.  He  assumed  a  spiteful 
attitude  toward  the  Empress  whom 
he  called  "■  Ni-Ni^''  and  once  refused 
to  drink  her  health  in  public. 

M.  Renan  says  of  him  that  his 
grasp  of  a  subject  was  wonderful, 
his  wit  extraordinary,  and  his  execu- 
tive ability  unsurpassed.  His  sister, 
the  brilliant  Princess  Mathilde,  who 


52  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

shares  so  many  of  his  gifts,  has  the 
only  salon  in  Paris  to-day,  and  with 
her  brother's  death  and  the  union  of 
his  party  it  will  become  historical. 

Prince  Napoleon  was  so  reserved 
that  he  went  through  life  without 
inspiring  or  receiving  any  real  affec- 
tion, and  without  meaning  it  he  un- 
consciously repelled  adherents  who 
wished  to  become  devoted.  He  had 
the  misfortune  of  passing  for  a  Re- 
publican under  the  Empire  and  for 
an  Imperialist  under  the  Republic, 
which  was  the  more  unfortunate  as 
he  despised  all  forms  of  government, 
and  in  his  ambition  to  rule  would 
have  put  up  with  any.  A  curious 
thing  about  him  was  the  fact  that  his 
followers  liked  him  better  at  a  dis- 
tance. Only  the  other  day  one  of 
his  staunchest  friends  exclaimed:  "I 
never  liked  him  so  well  as  now,  when 
I  know  I  shall  not  see  him  again." 

At  a  distance  people  remembered 
only  his  brilliancy,  culture,  eloquence 
and  the  surprising  ease  with  which 
he  mastered  every  problem,  however 
difficult,  in  public  affairs.  He  was 
superior  everywhere  and  popular  no- 
where, and  although  he  had  the  per- 
sonal magnetism  which  enforces 
admiration  at  first  sight,  he  had  also 
the  unfortunate  power  of  inducing 
antipathy  toward  him  on  further 
acquaintance. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.        '      53 

The  deceased  Prince's  life  was  in 
all  its  vicissitudes  an  extraordinary 
one  and  is  rich  in  anecdotes  and 
stories.  His  career  was  a  succession 
of  false  steps,  and  again  and  again 
the  cup  of  power  was  at  his  lips, 
only  to  be  dashed  to  the  ground  by 
his  own  mistake.  A  man  of  majestic 
person,  high  ambitions  and  unex- 
celled ability,  his  singular  lack  of 
tact  and  knack  of  doing  the  wrong 
thing  in  the  right  place  ruined  his 
chances  of  success. 

Prince  Jerome  Napoleon,  or  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  the  Fifth  —  to 
give  him  his  real  title  —  was  the  son 
of  Jerome  Bonaparte  (the  brother  of 
the  great  Napoleon),  King  of  West- 
phalia, by  his  marriage  with  the 
Princess  Catherine  of  Wurtemburg. 
He  was  brought  up  in  Rome,  Austria 
and  Geneva,  and  finished  his  educa- 
tion under  the  supervision  of  his 
uncle,  the  King  of  Wurtemburg,  at 
the  military  school  of  Ludwisburg, 
near  Stuttgart.  On  the  'establish- 
ment of  the  Empire,  under  his 
cousin,  he  took  rank  as  Heir  Ap- 
parent before  the  Prince  Imperial's 
birth,  after  which  he  became  Heir 
Presumptive,  and  was  for  some  time 
Governor-General  of  Algeria.  The 
Emperor  often  employed  him  upon 
various  diplomatic  military  and  sci- 
entific missions.     Many  people  may 


54  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

have    forgotten    that    at    one    time 
Prince   Napoleon   was   a    prominent 
rival    of    the    Emperor.     When    the 
future  Napoleon  IIT.  was  indulging- 
in  various  little  escapades  that  made 
it  seem  unlikely  he  would  ever  rise 
to    any    great    position,   fortune    fa- 
voured   his    more    youthful    cousin. 
Prince   Napoleon   had   every  advan- 
tage.    In  looks  he  was  weirdly  like 
the  first  Napoleon.     I  saw  him  here 
last  year  and  instinctively  looked  for 
the   cocked   hat  and  knee   breeches 
associated  forever  with  "/^  petit  cap-^ 
oral."     No  one  who  saw  his  massive, 
clean-shaven,    powerful    face    could 
doubt  that  he  stood  face  to  face  with 
a  veritable  Napoleon.      He  seemed 
to  hold  the  winning  card  when  the 
Revolution  of   1848   broke   out,  but 
every  day  he  lost  ground,  notwith- 
standing his    active    interference  .in 
affairs,  and  every  day  Prince  Louis 
Napoleon  gained    more  influence  in 
spite  of  his  reserve.     And  this  illus- 
trates   French    nature.       It    prefers 
a   man  who  is    impenetrable   rather 
than    one    who    bustles    about    and 
allows    his    plans    to   be  found   out. 
After  a  few  pitched   battles    Prince 
Napoleon  allowed  it  to  appear  that 
.  he    recognized    his    cousin    as    the 
stronger  man,  and  attached  himself 
to  his  cause.     But  he  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  the  men  who  planned  the 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  55 

coup  d'etat.  He  distrusted  and  dis- 
liked them,  and  they  returned  the 
compliment.  But  he  became  Heir 
Presumptive,  was  made  a  general 
and  had  the  Palais-Royal  as  a  resi- 
dence with  ^40,000  a  year. 

In  1859  he  married  Princess  Clo- 
tilde,  the  daughter  of  King  Victor 
Emanuel,  and  sister  of  the  present 
King  of  Italy.  He  leaves  three 
children.  Prince  Victor  Napoleon — 
now  Napoleon  the  Sixth, — Princess 
Letitia,  widow  of  the  Duke  of  Aosta, 
and  Prince  Louis,  a  colonel  in  the 
Russian  Dragoons.  And  now  we 
come  to  two  mistakes  generally  made 
as  to  the  dead  Prince's  character. 
He  was  not  a  coward  and  he  was  not 
an  atheist.  Ever  since  the  Crimean 
war  Prince  Napoleon  has  been 
dogged  with  a  reputation  for  cowar- 
dice and  was  given  the  nicknames  of 
'' Ploii  Flon'  and  ''Cringe  Flomb" 
by  the  Parisian  mob.  There  is  not 
a  doubt,  however,  that  he  behaved 
with  all  the  courage  of  his  race  at 
the  battle  of  the  Alma,  and  that  his 
recall  was  not  due  to  his  own  choos- 
ing, but  to  the  intrigues  of  his 
enemies. 

The  report  of  the  Marshal  Com- 
manding confirms  this.  But  a  dam- 
ning story  of  his  ill-health  was 
circulated  at  the  time  by  the  semi- 
official   papers,    and    the    mob    was 


56  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

ready  to  put  the  worst  construction 
on  it.  Report  says  the  Empress 
Eugenie  was  in  no  small  degree  re- 
sponsible for  these  rumours,  for  she 
cordially  disliked  him  and  he  re- 
turned the  feeling  with  interest. 

Fate  was  again  cruel  to  him  in  the 
war  with  Prussia  in  iSyo-'yi.  When 
he  returned  from  Spitzbergen  he  was 
anxious  to  be  given  a  responsible 
command  in  the  Imperial  army,  but 
instead  was  sent  off  to  Italy  to  keep 
King  Victor  Emanuel  in  a  good 
humour.  He  had  one  more  chance, 
before  the  war,  of  redeeming  his 
honour,  when  the  Due  d'Aumale 
challenged  him  to  a  duel,  but  lost  it 
by  too  much  conscientiousness.  He 
hastened  to  the  Tuilleries  to  ask  if 
he  ought  to  fight.  Of  course  the 
Emperor  said  no,  and  then  the  Em- 
press made  her  famous  but  ill-natured 
bon  mot,  "  If  a  bullet  is  ever  found  in 
our  cousin's  body  it  will  be  that  he 
has  swallowed  it." 

Prince  Napoleon  was  not  an  athe- 
ist. This  is  proved  by  his  whole 
life,  by  his  friends  and  by  his  death, 
and  will  be  proved  by  his  memoirs, 
for  in  his  last  moments,  while  still 
conscious,  he  received  Extreme 
Unction  from  Cardinal  Bonaparte, 
and  he  has  had  a  religious  funeral. 
He  was  an  anti-clerical,  and  while 
certainly    not    a    religious    man,    he 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  57 

inclined  towards  the  doctrines  of 
Rousseau. 

The  famous  Good  Friday  dinner 
at  which  the  Prince  and  his  guests 
ate  charciiterie  and  drank  a  some- 
what profane  toast  was  the  base  of 
the  beHef  respecting  his  religious 
opinions — a  belief  greatly  magnified 
and  spread  by  the  Empress  Eugenie. 
Prince  Napoleon  never  knew  when 
to  speak  and  when  to  remain  silent, 
although  a  magnificent  orator,  and 
his  failing  has  been  well  summed  up 
by  a  famous  senator  :  "  The  Prince 
speaks  well,  he  is  the  best  of  ora- 
tors— but  he  says  only  too  well  what 
had  best  been  left  unsaid." 

His  friends  were  the  most  famous 
men  of  the  day,  A^ictor  Hugo,  Ed- 
mond  About,  Ste.  Beuve  and  Pere 
Hyacinthe,  who  sent  him  his  blessing 
as  he  lay  dying.  His  relations  with 
the  Emperor  show  many  instances 
of  his  want  of  tact.  Having  been 
complimented  by  Napoleon  upon 
two  speeches  delivered  in  the  Senate 
against  the  temporal  power  of  the 
Pope,  he  resolved  to  improve  upon 
them,  and  then  delivered  his  famous 
anti-Papal  speech  at  Ajaccio,  a 
speech  which  drew  forth  the  follow- 
ing interesting  letter  of  remonstrance 
from  the  Emperor  : 

'"''Monsieur  M071  Cousin^ — I  can- 
not help  informing  you  of  the  painful 


58  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

impression  which  I  received  on  read- 
ing the  speech  you  dehvered  at 
Ajaccio.  When  I  left  you  in  Paris 
with  the  Empress  and  my  son  and  as 
President  of  the  Privy  Council,  I 
hoped  that  you  would  prove  yourself 
by  your  acts,  conduct  and  speeches, 
worthy  of  the  trust  which  I  had 
placed  in  you,  and  that  you  would 
set  the  example  of  that  unity  which 
ever  ought  to  exist  in  our  family. 
You  have  raised  questions  which  no 
longer  concern  our  day.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  have  borne,  as  I  have,  the 
responsibilities  of  power  in  order  to 
judge  how  far  the  ideas  of  Napoleon  I. 
are  applicable  to  the  present  time. 
Before  the  great  statue  of  the  founder 
of  our  family,  what  are  we  but  pig- 
mies, only  able  to  behold  a  part  and 
incapable  of  grasping  the  whole  ? 
One  thing,  however,  is  certain,  and 
that  is  that  Napoleon  exercised — 
first  of  all  in  his  family  and  then  in 
his  government — that  severe  discip- 
line without  which  all  government  is 
impossible,  and  without  which  all 
liberty  leads  to  anarchy.  Having 
said  this  much,  my  cousin,  I  pray 
God  to  have  you  in  his  holy  keeping. 

Napoleon." 

This  letter  was  wTitten  in  1866, 
when  the  Emperor  was  traveling  in 
Algeria. 

After  the  fall  of  the  Empire  and 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  59 

the  death  of  the  Emperor,  Prince 
Napoleon  kept  up  a  sort  of  armed 
neutrality  with  the  Empress  Eugenie 
and  his  young  cousin,  the  Prince 
Imperial  (then  Napoleon  the  Fourth), 
after  whom,  he  was  the  head  of  the 
Bonapartist  party.  When  the  Prince 
Imperial  fell  in  Zululand  in  1879, 
Prince  Napoleon  became  the  head  of 
the  family.  But  the  Prince  Imperial 
had  made  a  foolish,  boyish  will  in 
which  he  named  his  cousin.  Prince 
Victor,  the  eldest  son  of  Prince 
Napoleon,  his  heir  and  successor. 
The  Empress  Eugenie  was  only  too 
glad  to  annoy  her  hated  foe  by 
pretending  to  accept  this  absurd  ar- 
rangement, and  unfortunately  Prince 
Victor  Napoleon  fell  into  the  hands 
of  foolish  advisers,  quarreled  with 
his  father  and  set  up  a  party  of  his 
owm.  For  several  years  father  and 
son  have  not  spoken,  each  claiming 
to  represent  the  Imperialist  party  in 
France.  But  it  is  now  stated  with 
authority  that  Prince  Victor  Napol- 
eon was  reconciled  to  his  father  on 
his  death-bed,  and  this  will  do  much 
towards  wiping  out  the  memory  of 
his  unfilial  conduct.  But  he  was 
strongly  tempted.  The  Empress 
Eugenie  urged  him,  all  the  old  ad- 
herents of  his  great  family  urged 
him,  to  set  up  the  Napoleonic  stan- 
dard, while    his  father  seemed  apa- 


6o  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

thetic  and  indifferent.  Then,  of 
course,  he  commanded  a  divided 
allegiance.  Now  he  stands  at  the 
head  of  a  united  party.  Thousands 
of  men  who  would  not  join  Prince 
Napoleon  on  account  of  his  anti- 
clerical opinions  and  who  refused  to 
support  Prince  Victor  Napoleon 
against  his  father,  are  now  rallying 
to  the  Imperial  standard. 

Scoffers  said  the  Napoleonic  legend 
was  dead  when  the  first  Napoleon 
died.  Scoffers  say  so  now.  Yet 
Napoleon  III.  proved  that  it  was 
very  much  alive  in  the  fifties,  and  it 
is  well  on  the  cards  that  Napoleon  VI. 
may  do  so  in  the  nineties.  The  new 
Emperor  de  Jure,  is  clever,  eloquent 
and  possesses  tact,  above  all  the  sine 
qua  noil  of  one  in  his  position.  He 
has  few  enemies  and  many  friends 
and  will  inherit  the  Empress  Eu- 
genie's large  fortune  upon  her 
death. 

And  so  the  greatest  service  Prince 
Napoleon  has  ever  done  for  his  fam- 
ily and  cause  is  by  dying,  for  his 
death  unites,  while  his  life  divided, 
his  party. 

History  will  judge  him  fairly. 
Brilliant,  clever,  witty,  statesmanlike, 
eloquent  and  masterful,  his  life  has 
been  ruined  by  want  of  tact.  His 
last  words  are  significant  :  (I  quote 
from  the  London  Times.) 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


6l 


"  He  declared  that  he  died  an-Em- 
peror,  adhering  to  the  principles  of 
the  Concordat^  and  fully  imbued 
with  the  religious  sentiments  of  the 
Bonapartes." 

Such  was  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
the  Fifth,  a  man  misjudged  by  many 
and  loved  by  few,  but  a  man  whose 
talents  will  one  day  be  recognized  by 
France. 


r^^ 


A    DEVONSHIRE    MARKET 
TOWN. 


EWTON  ABBOT,  DEV- 
ON.— At  the  first  blush 
the  sudden  change  from 
the  bahny  breezes  of  the 
Riviera  to  the  compara- 
tively harsh  winds  that  blow  over 
Dartmoor,  would  seem  to  be  a  trial. 
But  such  is  hardly  the  case.  I  am 
writing  to-day  in  a  private  sitting 
room  of  the  quaint  Globe  Inn  in  this 
little-visited  town,  with  the  windows 
wide  open  and  the  sun  streaming  in 
with  a  vv^armth  that  is  almost  too 
genial.  One  never  hears  of  a  tourist 
visiting  Newton  Abbot,  and  from  all 
I  can  gather  Newton  Abbot  is  in  the 
same  position.  It  is  a  queer,  quiet 
little  market  town  in  South  Devon, 
about  six  miles  from  Torquay,  the 
great  southern  watering  place,  and 
not  far  from  Dartmouth  and  the 
moors.  One  can  have  hunting  and 
fishing  in  the  neighbourhood,  for 
the  South  Devon  fox  hounds  meet 
near  by  three  times  a  week  and  the 
rivers  Eske  and  Culme  supply  cap- 
ital salmon  fishing.  Several  big 
country  houses  are  close  by,  and  to 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  63 


the  casual  observer  Newton  Abbot 
exists  simply  to  form  a  coterie  of 
tradespeople  for  the  benefit  of  the 
County  Families  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. It  has  no  society  of  its  own, 
and  even  its  Mechanics'  Institute 
gives  entertainments  only  by  the  suf- 
frages of  the  "surrounding  Nobility 
and  Gentry,"  to  quote  from  its  pro- 
grammes. And  yet  it  is  a  happy, 
quiet  little  town  enough,  sunning 
itself  in  its  own  small  valley,  and 
with  many  of  its  by-streets  run- 
ning up  the  numerous  hills  at  the 
back,  whose  brows  are  dotted  with 
genteel  (how  popular  that  word  is 
among  the  lower-middle  class  in 
England)  semi-detached  "  villas." 
The  London  papers  get  down  at  mid- 
day, and  until  noon  Newton  Abbot 
gets  on  very  well  with  a  local  print 
which  reproduces  the  news  from 
yesterday's   Thnes. 

By  the  way,  "  The  Thunderer  "  is 
too  dear  for  the  average  man  (it  is 
three-pence  a  copy  as  against  a  penny 
for  the  other  London  dailies)  and  so 
it  is  lent  out  to  read  by  the  local 
library  which  advertises  itself  as 
''in  connection  with  Mudie's."  One 
rather  wonders  where  the  "  connec- 
tion "  comes  in  when  a  copy  of  "  Rob- 
ert Elsmere"  is  handed  one  as  the 
"  last  thing  out,  sir,  just  down  from 
London." 


64  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

But  Newton  Abbot  has  some  his- 
torical interest.  In  the  midst  of  the 
town,  just  in  front  of  the  old  ivy- 
covered  tower  of  St.  Leonard's,  is  a 
remarkably  ugly  stone  surmounted  by 
a  modern  lamp-post.  The  stone 
bears  an  inscription  to  the  effect  that 
in  1688  the  then  Mayor  of  the  town, 
standing  thereon,  read  the  first  proc- 
lamation made  by  William  of  Orange 
after  landing  in  England.  Enthusi- 
astic Orangemen  visit  the  stone  to 
this  day,  and  zealous  members  of  the 
Order  of  the  White  Rose  curse  it 
heartily,  as  they  regret  King  James 
and  the  Stuart  dynasty  ;  which,  what- 
ever its  faults,  at  least  inspired  more 
romantic  loyalty  and  personal  devo- 
tion than  the  phlegmatic  Dutch 
Prince  ever  did. 

I  visited  several  houses  near  New- 
ton Abbot  with  a  view  to  taking  one 
furnished  for  the  sake  of  the  good 
fishing  near,  and  although  none  was 
found  to  suit  I  had  some  droll  ex- 
periences. One  house  was  very  well 
furnished,  and  the  family  seemed  in 
a  remarkable  hurry  to  get  away 
while  offering  the  place  at  a  low 
rent,  but  it  afterwards  turned  out 
that  the  paterfamilias  —  a  clergyman 
—  had  just  eloped  with  the  parlour- 
maid. 

At  another  house  I  was  received 
by   a   smartly-dressed    person    who 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  6 


0 


tried  hard  to  give  me  the  impression 
that  she  was  a  lady,  and  who  at 
length  airily  inquired  :  "And  would 
you  like  to  move  in,  at  once,  forth- 
with directly  ?  "  But  her  drawing 
room  was  decorated  with  wax  flowers 
under  glass  shades ;  and  mottoes 
done  in  Berlin  wool,  with  a  chromo- 
lithograph of  the  late  Lord  Palmers- 
ton  over  the  mantel  ;  so  I  was  not 
exposed  to  much  temptation.  The 
occupant  of  another  cottage  waxed 
confidential  as  she  showed  me  over 
the  house,  told  me  her  name  was 
Mrs.  Mudge  and  that  she  "  laun- 
dered "  for  a  living.  She  looked 
as  if  she  did  something  for  a  liv- 
ing, for  her  face  was  fiery  red  and 
she  diffused  an  odour  of  gin  and 
cloves  as  she  slowly  maundered  on. 

Nearly  every  street  in  the  town 
shows  by  its  name  some  connection 
with  the  Courtenay  family  —  Earls 
of  Devon  —  who  in  the  old  days 
owned  most  of  the  property  in 
South  Devon.  Now  evil  times  have 
come  upon  them  and  beautiful  old 
Powderham  Castle,  near  Dartmouth, 
alone  remains  to  them.  But  they 
are  venerated  still  in  the  county 
and  the  "Courtenay  interest"  is  a 
great  help  to  the  candidate  for  Par- 
liamentary honours. 

Newton  Abbot  has  the  distinction 
— if  it  be  a  distinction,  which  is  very 


66  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Strongly  debated — of  having  as  its 
representative  in  Parliament  the  only- 
Liberal  member  from  Devonshire. 

Mr.  Seale-Hayne  is  a  wealthy  fol- 
lower of  Mr.  Gladstone  and  is  faith- 
ful to  his  chief,  but  even  he  owes  his 
seat  to  a  prudent  refusal  to  accept 
Mr.  Gladstone's  extreme  views  on  the 
subject  of  home  rule.  The  sturdy 
farmers  of  Devon  have  ideas  of  their 
own  and  do  not  see  why  the  efforts 
of  a  few  Irish  agitators  should  be 
allowed  to  break  up  an  Empire. 

The  Conservatives  and  Liberal- 
Unionists  divide  the  representation 
of  Devon  between  them,  with  the  sol- 
itary exception  of  the  aforesaid  Mr. 
Seale-Hayne,  and  the  Conservatives 
are  working  hard  to  defeat  him  at  the 
next  general  election.  The  echoes 
of  the  great  gathering  at  Exeter  last 
year,  when  Lord  Salisbury  addressed 
an  audience  of  several  thousand 
working  people  upon  the  fallacies  of 
home  rule  for  Ireland,  have  not  yet 
died  away,  and  his  speech  will  bear 
fruit  at  the  next  general  election. 
The  tactics  of  the  Gladstonians  in 
the  rural  districts  are  now  devoted 
to  drawing  off  the  attention  of  the 
rural  voters  from  home  rule  — 
an  attention  that,  to  Gladstonian 
minds,  is  too  closely  fixed  upon  the 
struggles  of  the  rival  Irish  parties, 
and  the  probability  of  their  follow- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


67 


ing  the  lead  of  the  famous  Kilkenny 
cats — and  fixing  it  upon  co-called 
"  rural  reforms."  The  Conservatives 
and  Liberal-Unionists,  on  the  other 
hand,  place  home  rule  in  the  front 
and  make  it  the  main  issue  ;  so  the 
curious  spectacle  is  presented  of  the 
party  .responsible  for  the  measure 
placing  it  in  the  background,  and  the 
party  opposed  to  it  making  it  the 
main  issue  in  the  campaign. 

Turning  to  sweeter  subjects — who, 
having  once  tasted  Devonshire  clot- 
ted cream  can  forget  it  ?  And  when 
to  a  glass  dish  of  clotted  cream  is 
added  a  sunny  morning,  a  well-laid 
breakfast  table  and  a  hissing  tea  urn, 
life  looks  at  least  cheerful. 


'^^^^ 


m^ 


OXFORD  — FROM  A  STU- 
DENT'S NOTE  BOOK. 

XFORD.— Everything  at 
Oxford  is  quaint  and 
charming,  but  its  inns 
are  unique  and  it  is  im- 
possible to  find  one  that 
sells  bad  beer, — the  undergrads  would 
never  stand  it, — and  where  a  better 
judge  of  bitter  beer  than  a  Christ- 
Church,  or  a  Magdalen,  or  a  "  Johns  " 
man  is  to  be  found,  it  is  hard  to  say. 
The  names  even  of  these  inns  are 
soothing.  It  is  such  a  relief  to  get 
away  from  the  American  hotel  abom- 
ination, with  its  gilded  radiator,  and 
from  its  cold,  stiff  restaurants  and 
pretentious  name ;  to  the  sanded 
coffee  room  of  the  quaint,  cosy 
"Mitre,"  or  to  the  bar-parlour  of 
the  "Bell"  or  the  "Plough."  And 
although  these  small,  low-built  inns 
are  old — older  than  New  York  City 
several  of  them — they  are  radiant 
with  a  fresh  lavender-smelling  clean- 
liness that  is  never  found  in  the  big 
American  hostelries,  where  the  be- 
fringed and  be-ribboned  Irish  impor- 
tation reigns  in  her  pride. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  69 

Rosy-cheeked  country  lasses  serve 
the  public  here,  and  are  shining  ex- 
amples of  civil  service,  while  behind 
the  bar  stands  a  lively,  neat  and 
pretty  barmaid,  who  is  an  adept  in 
chaffing  the  college  men,  but  with  too 
much  self-respect  to  allow  any  vulgar 
jesting  in  her  domain.  We  under- 
grads  were  not  allowed  to  frequent 
every  inn,  but  the  "  Clarendon  "  was 
a  great  favourite,  and  I  have  heard 
many  jolly  stories  in  its  quaint  old 
"Smoke  Room,"  lined  with  prints 
after  Hogarth.  When  I  was  '*  in 
residence "  at  the  University,  three 
years  ago,  there  used  to  be  a  very 
pretty  barmaid  who  officiated  at  the 
"Plough,"  opposite  my  rooms,  and  I 
noticed  that  she  was  usually  at  the 
window  when  Connigsby  Disraeli, 
nephew  to  the  great  Earl  of  Bea- 
consfield,  who  was  then  a  student  at 
"New,"  passed  by.  A  queer  fellow, 
Disraeli,  and  sure  to  make  his  mark 
if  he  lives.  I  met  him  at  the  theatre 
constantly,  where  he  always  led  the 
applause.  He  is  very  popular  still 
in  Oxford,  for  he  is  hail  fellow  well 
met  with  everyone,  be  it  "  town  "  or 
"gown";  and  he  is  "up"  on  dogs 
and  horses  as  well  as  in  the  classics. 
His  kennels  were  famous  when  he 
was  "in  residence"  or  "up,"  as  it  is 
sometimes  called.  If  his  uncle  had 
not  been  the  first  Earl,  and  had  the 


70  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

title  not  therefore  been  confined  to 
his  direct  line  (he  had  no  sons),  Dis- 
raeli would  have  been  "Milord"; 
but  he  is  sure  to  make  his  own  way. 
At  the  last  general  election  he  was 
elected  to  Parliament  from  the  Al- 
trincham  Division  of  Sussex  by  a 
large  majority  over  his  Liberal  op- 
ponent. The  Queen  is  said  to  take 
a  personal  interest  in  his  success, 
and  Her  Majesty's  partiality  for  his 
uncle  is  well  known.  He  has  already 
begun  to  attract  attention  by  active 
work  in  the  Conservative  cause  and  by 
clever  addresses  at  Primrose  League 
meetings  all  over  England. 

My  rooms  in  the  college  days  were 
in  Cornmarket  Street,  near  the 
"High,"  and  my  landlord  (who  was 
duly  licensed  by  the  all-powerful 
Proctors)  rejoiced  in  the  name  of 
Huckings.  He  was  formerly  valet 
to  the  Marquis  of  Queensberry,  and 
never  allowed  one  to  forget  the  fact ; 
few  were  the  days  when  allusions  to 
"  His  Lordship  the  Markis "  failed 
to  greet  my  ears.  Huckings  is  very 
proud  of  his  "acquaintance"  with 
the  Nobility,  and  often  boasted  that 
Prince  Christian-Victor,  a  grandson 
of  Her  Majesty  and  a  student  of  Mag- 
dalen, once  knocked  him  down  in  the 
cricket  field.  But  Huckings  is  emi- 
nently respectable  and  very  civil. 

His    furniture    was    usually    cov- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  7 1 

ered  with  a  green  material  stiffly 
starched,  that  crackled  and  rustled 
like  an  Irish-American  servant  out 
for  a  Sunday  walk, —  no  English 
housemaid  would  dream  of  taking 
the  liberty  of  allowing  herself  to 
rustle.  Huckings  was  a  capital  cook 
and  an  experienced  butler,  and  his 
welsh-rarebits  were  as  light  as  air. 

There  is  but  one  theatre  in  Oxford, 
and  that  is  directly  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  Vice-Chancellor,  and 
no  play  can  be  performed  without 
his  sanction.  The  programmes  are 
headed  "  By  permission  of  the  Rev- 
erend the  Vice-Chancellor,  and  the 
Right- Worshipful  the  Mayor."  For 
Oxford,  as  a  'Varsity  town,  is  under 
the  control  of  the  head  of  the  Uni- 
versity as  well  as  of  the  Ma3^or. 

The  unsophisticated  crowd  in  the 
gallery  always  hisses  the  villain,  who 
is  usually  the  best  actor,  and  applauds 
the  hero,  who  is  often  a  poor  one  ; 
but  this  is  usual  all  through  Eng- 
land, and  is  taken  by  the  heavy 
villain  of  the  play  as  a  tribute  to  his 
genius.  Very  good  entertainments 
are  given  as  a  rule:  ''The  Pirates," 
Toole  in  "  The  Don,"  and  the  inimi- 
table Corney  Grain  have  appeared 
among  others.  The  bar  is  forbidden 
to  sell  whiskey  to  the  undergrads,  so 
the  call  is  for  "lime-juice,"  which 
answers  the  same  purpose  ! 


72  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

I  met  my  old  tutor,  or  coach  for 
"  cramming,"  in  the  street  to-day, 
aud  I  have  just  had  him  to  dine. 
He  is  typical — a  short,  squat  man 
with  a  heavy,  unkempt  beard,  and 
with  countless  lines  seaming  his  face. 
He  has  not  been  out  of  Oxford  for 
twenty  years  and  spends  all  his 
time  in  coaching  backward  students. 
He  reminds  one  in  some  ways  of 
a  ripe  and  somewhat  mouldy  Stil- 
ton cheese. 

His  rooms  are  musty  and  cob- 
webby, for  he  tells  me  no  one  has 
dusted  them  for  two  years,  as  he  can- 
not stand  having  his  papers  disturbed. 
And  how  he  smokes  !  His  pipe  rack 
must  hold  twenty  pipes  at  least,  and 
most  of  them  are  beautifully  coloured. 

The  walks  about  Oxford  are 
charming  and  on  returning  from  a 
long  tramp  it  is  delightful  to  stand 
on  Folly  Bridge  at  dusk  and  watch 
the  punts  and  canoes  come  dropping 
down  the  "  Char,"  or  to  see  a  college 
eight  dash  swiftly  down  the  Isis  to 
Iffley.  The  old  inn  at  Godstow,  just 
opposite  the  ruins  of  the  famous 
Nunnery,  is  very  quaint  ;  and  the 
fame  of  Mumby's  cherry  brandy  is 
known  to  all  the  colleges  in  Oxford. 

The  author  of  "  Alice  in  Wonder- 
land "  is  a  Fellow  of  Christ  Church 
College,  and  lives  in  two  rooms  look- 
ing out  over  the  green  old  "  Quad." 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  73 

He  is  fond  of  children  and  has  them 
always  with  him.  They  tell  a  droll 
story  of  him  in  Oxford.  The  Queen 
enjoyed  "Alice"  so  much  that  she 
requested  the  author,  by  letter,  to 
send  her  another  of  his  "  charming 
books."  Much  flattered,  he  for- 
warded Her  Majesty  his  "  Treatise 
on  the  Differential  Calculus." 

When  I  was  an  undergrad  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  pay  for  what 
one  bought  in  Oxford,  for  the  trades- 
people insist  on  one's  taking  long 
credits — a  neat  little  plan  by  which 
they  make  a  good  deal  in  the  long 
run,  as  they  charge  heavy  interest. 
Oxford  changes  little  as  the  years  go 
b}'.  It  was  lovely  spring  weather 
to-day  and  everyone  wandered  to 
the  river,  through  the  green  Christ 
Church  meadows,  just  as  they  have 
done  for  hundreds  of  years  and  will 
do  in  future  centuries ;  and  they  are 
wise,  for  nothing  is  so  delightful  on 
a  warm  afternoon  in  June  as  to  take 
a  punt  and  slowly  glide  along  the 
Cherwell,  or  to  drop  down  the  Isis 
in  a  canoe  and  take  a  plunge  at 
"Parson's  Pleasure." 

Descriptions  of  College  life  at 
Oxford  have  been  done  to  death  and 
it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  go  over 
the  well-worn  ground.  "  The  Ad- 
ventures of  Mr.  Verdant  Green  "  still 
give  a  fair  idea  of  'Varsity  life,  and 


74  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

"  Tom  Brown  "  is  as  good  to-day  as 
when  it  was  written. 

The  contrast  between  American 
and  English  college  life  is  sharply 
marked.  A  short  experience  of  Yale 
made  me  enjoy  Oxford  all  the  more. 
There  is  no  class  spirit,  but  the  tone 
in  the  twenty-odd  colleges — each  a 
small  Yale — is  more  athletic  and  more 
Comvienceinent-de-siech  in  every  way. 

A  curious  thing  is  the  way  in  which 
cap  and  gown  are  worn  here.  The 
gown  with  its  two  short  tails  reaches 
only  to  the  small  of  the  back,  and  is 
only  worn  when  absolutel}^  necessary. 
There  has  been  a  good  deal  of 
amused  talk  "in  Hall"  over  the  re- 
port that  some  upper  classmen  at  Yale 
actually  wear  a  long  gown  reaching 
to  the  feet.  It  would  be  considered 
bad  form  for  Oxford  undergrads  to 
wear  such  a  thing,  as  long  gowns  are 
worn  only  by  dons  and  tutors. 

Americans  are  coming  in  increased 
numbers  every  year  ;  and  for  some 
unknown  reason  they  usually  go  to 
New  College,  or  to  "  Ch.  Ch.,"  as 
Christ  Church  is  familiarly  called. 
But  I  found  St.  John's  College — or 
"  Johns," — with  its  lovely  gardens 
and  long,  low,  time-worn  buildings, 
a  delightful  place  to  study  in  or  at. 
"  Ch.  Ch."  is  pre-eminently  the  "  swell 
college."  Balliol  is  for  hard  stu- 
dents, and  Magdalen  is  very  aristo- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  75 

cratic  ;  Jesus  is  for  Welshmen,  Wad- 
ham  for  men  who  want  an  easy  time, 
and  Brazenose  and  Oriel  for  athletes. 
"Johns  "  combines  the  happiest  feat- 
ures of  each.  The  others  have  no 
marked  characteristics. 

The  good  old  dons  are  a  feature 
of  Oxford,  and  it  is  easy  to  see  from 
their  rosy  cheeks  and  well-fed  look 
that  they  do  not  despise  the  famous 
Oxford  ale,  which  is  pure  and  whole- 
some, while  the  wine  is  bad  and  dear. 
Consequently  everyone  drinks  beer, 
except  a  few  old  Deans  and  Masters 
of  Colleges,  whose  gout  confines 
them  to  toast  and  water. 

The  thought  of  dons  brings  up 
memories  of  the  payment  of  gate 
fines,  if  one  happened  to  be  out  of 
college  after  the  great  bell  of  Christ 
Church  had  boomed  out  the  hour  of 
nine  ;  and  it  was  harder  than  may  be 
supposed  to  dodge  the  Proctor  and 
his  ''bull  dogs"  if  one  was  out  "in 
mufti,"  /.  e.,  without  cap  or  gown. 
But  take  it  all  in  all,  college  life  at 
Oxford  is  an  enviable  thing,  and 
Oxford  itself  is  a  delightful  place. 


THE    ENGLISH    LITTORAL. 


.OURNEMOUTH.— Imag- 
ine a  few  houses  set  down 
in  the  midst  of  a  forest  of 
pines  on  two  great  cliffs 
overhanging  the  sea  ;  with 
a  sandy  soil,  and  you  have  Bourne- 
mouth. There  are  shops,  indeed, 
and  a  principal  street,  but  they  are 
so  mixed  up  with  the  pines  and  so 
divided,  one  from  the  other,  that 
they  do  not  give  an  impression  of 
town  life  at  all,  and  one  easily  imag- 
ines oneself  to  be  in  the  depths  of 
the  country.  The  pines  are  the 
fetishes  of  Bournemouth.  You 
breathe  in  their  healing  balsam,  you 
bathe  in  pine  juice  and  sleep  on 
pine  pillows.  You  walk  in  pine 
groves,  and  sit  on  furniture  made 
exclusively  of  pine  and,  when  you 
die,  you  are  laid  under  the  shade  of 
the  pines.  I  don't  doubt  the  fact 
that  pines  are  healthy  in  moderation, 
but  they  are  monotonous. 

Bournemouth  is  a  new  place,  for 
everything  dates  back  only  forty 
years.  Before  that  there  were  only 
plantations  of  pines  on  the  cliff.  The 
name  of  the  discoverer   of   Bourne- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  77 

mouth  is  unknown,  but  the  man  who 
has  "made"  the  place,  and  made  it, 
too,  with  wonderful  taste  and  skill, 
building  all  the  houses  in  the  pine 
woods  and  cutting  hardly  any  of 
them  down,  is  Sir  George  Mey- 
rick,  ably  assisted  by  the  Lord  of 
the  Manor  who  owns  the  half  not 
belonging  to  Sir  George.  One  can- 
not call  Bournemouth  wildly  gay, 
but  it  is  eminently  select  —  so  are 
the  prices,  which  are  high  enough  to 
frighten  away  any  one  under  the 
rank  (and  income)  of  a  Marquis. 
There  is  no  theatre  in  the  town,  the 
aforesaid  Lord  of  the  Manor  who 
owns  most  of  the  freehold  objecting 
to  such  worldly  amusements ;  but 
the  inhabitants  have  managed  to  get 
around  him  by  fitting  up  the  town  hall 
as  an  amateur  play-house,  where  occa- 
sional third-rate  companies  perform. 
But  people  hardly  come  here  to  go 
to  the  play.  They  come  for  rest 
and  change.  Bournemouth  is  a 
good  long  way  from  London  :  three 
hours  from  Waterloo  station,  and  in 
Hampshire,  on  the  border  line  of 
Dorset.  The  climate  is  wonderfully 
dry,  and  milder  than  that  of  London, 
but  not  warm.  Indeed,  there  is 
little  difference  between  the  climates 
of  Geneva  and  Bournemouth,  except 
that,  of  course,  there  is  more  snow 
in  Geneva,  and  the  air  is  less  relaxing. 


78  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

One  can  easily  understand  how  con- 
sumptives may  derive  benefit  from  it 
(lately  many  have  hurried  off  to  Ber- 
lin to  place  themselves  in  Dr.  Koch's 
clinic)^  but  to  healthy  people  it  is 
debilitating,  even  more  so  than  the 
climate  of  Nice  and  San  Remo. 

The  scenery  around  is  lovely. 
Great  hollows  (locally  called  chines) 
extend  to  the  sea  between  the  cliffs, 
and  a  drive  along  the  coast  reminds 
one  forcibly  of  the  drive  along  the 
Corniche  road  between  Monte  Carlo 
and  Mentone.  Indeed,  this  part  of 
the  Hampshire  coast  is  beginning  to 
be"  called  the  British  Riviera,  and  it 
deserves  the  name,  although  the  sea 
is  less  blue  and  the  sky  has  a  duller 
tinge  than  those  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean coast  can  show.  The  neigh- 
bouring drives  are  full  of  interest. 
The  ruins  of  Corfe  Castle  will  repay 
a  visit,  and  Canford  Manor,  Lord 
Wimborne's  place,  is  well  worth 
seeing.  There  are  drives  to  Poole, 
a  sea-port  near,  and  to  Christchurch, 
with  which  Bournemouth  is  incorpo- 
rated for  the  purpose  of  Parliamentary 
representation.  Boscombe  Chine  and 
Branksome  Chine  are  lovely  spots,  a 
little  way  out  of  Bournemouth. 

Bournemouth  is  rich  in  churches. 
St.  Peter's  is  a  noble  bit  of  archi- 
tecture, and  Holy  Trinity  is  a  re- 
markable building,  whose  steeple  is 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  79 

a  tower  distinct  from  the  main 
building.  Its  rector,  Canon  Eliot, 
has  recently  been  appointed  Dean 
of  Windsor  and  Domestic  Chaplain 
to  the  Queen ;  and  people  are  la- 
menting his  departure,  for  he  has 
been  here  twenty  years  and  during 
that  time  has  gained  for  his  church, 
by  his  own  efforts,  the  sum  of 
^40,000. 

The  inhabitants  of  Bournemouth 
have  been  anxious  for  some  time  to 
have  the  place  granted  a  charter  of 
incorporation,  so  that  they  might 
rejoice  in  a  bona  fide  Mayor  of  their 
own  instead  of  having  to  put  up 
with  a  simple  Chairman  of  Commis- 
sioners. A  member  of  Her  Majes- 
ty's Privy  Council  came  down  to  in- 
spect the  town  and  advised  the 
Queen  to  grant  the  charter,  which 
she  did  last  month.  Lately  political 
feeling  has  been  running  high  over 
the  election  of  the  Mayor,  and  there 
have  been  several  Richmonds  in  the 
field,  one  of  whom  put  forward  the 
fact  that  he  had  been  for  seven  years 
caterer  to  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  of 
Wales  and  to  the  Guards'  Club  in 
London  as  a  claim  to  the  office. 
He  came  within  a  few  votes  of  elec- 
tion, but  was  beaten  by  the  leading- 
stationer  of  the  town. 

Now  to  celebrate  this  important 
epoch  in  the  history  of  Bournemouth. 


8o  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Lord  and  Lady  Portarlington,  who 
live  very  near,  decided  to  give  a 
conversazione  in  the  Winter  Garden 
of  the  Hotel  Mont  Dore.  Of  course, 
the..  Mayor  and  Aldermen  appeared  ; 
and  now  the  current  of  feeling  in 
Bournemouth  is  at  fever  heat,  for 
"the  right  worshipful,  the  Mayor," 
to  give  him  his  proper  title,  ap- 
peared in  robes  and  chains  of  office 
—  June  iU(B  laehrynicE.  England  is 
divided  equally  on  this  subject ; 
about  half  the  Mayors  of  provincial 
towns  wearing  robes  and  badges, 
with  cocked  hats  and  the  other  half 
confining  themselves  to  a  simple 
chain  of  office.  The  Bournemouth 
papers  are  fighting  the  matter  tooth 
and  nail,  and  one  worthy  Alderman 
(an  Irish-American  green-grocer) 
has  resigned  office  rather  than  sub- 
mit to  wear  "these  relics  of  mediaev- 
alism."  It  will  be  news  to  most  of 
us  that  cocked  hats  were  en  evidenee 
in  the  middle  ages. 

But  Bournemouth  is  really  a 
charming  place  and  well  worth  a 
visit. 


A    DAY    AT   WINDSOR. 


ilNDSOR,     BERKS.— 

"Personally  conduct- 
ed" parties  have  done 
Windsor  to  death  ; 
and  the  place  has  been 
described  so  often  and  so  poorly 
that  it  needs  a  bold  pen  to  make 
another  attempt.  My  day  at  Wind- 
sor was  passed  during  the  cold 
month  of  January  ;  when  the  Royal 
Borough  was  hung  with  crape,  when 
the  flags  were  at  half  mast  and  when 
everything  was  redolent  of  gloom 
and  sadness. 

I  saw  the  highest  in  the  land 
weeping,  and  Royalty  when  overcome 
with  grief  ;  for  the  Heir  Presumptive 
to  the  English  Throne  had  been  cut 
off  and  the  nation  was  in  mourning. 
The  clearest  memory  that  remains 
with  me  after  the  splendid  cere- 
monial in  St.  George's  Chapel,  is 
the  recollection  of  the  bowed  figure 
and  grief-worn  face  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales  as  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  his 
older  son's  coffin,  between  his  only 
remaining  son.  Prince  George,  and 
his  son-in-law,  the  Duke  of  Fife. 
He   raised   his   head   as   Sir  Albert 


82  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Woods,  Garter  King  of  Arms,  pro- 
claimed the  "style  and  title  of  His  late 
Royal  Highness "  ;  and  his  terrible 
loss  was  evident  to  the  most  unobserv- 
ant there.  But  the  funeral  has  been 
everywhere  fully  described,  and  it 
would  be  useless  to  repeat  a  catalogue 
of  its  man}^  and  varied  incidents. 

After  it  was  over,  I  walked  through 
the  grassy  stretches  of  Windsor 
Great  Park  with  an  old  Oxford 
friend,  who  had  known  "  Prince 
Eddie  "  well,  both  on  the  Bacchante 
and  afterward  at  York.  He  told  me 
much  that  was  new  of  him  and 
several  stories  of  his  wonderful  tact 
in  social  matters,  by  means  of  which 
he  had  averted  serious  scandal  from 
a  family  well  known  to  readers  of 
Burke  and  Debrett.  I  parted  from 
him  that  evening  with  a  better  ap- 
preciation of  the  dead  Prince  and  his 
character  than  I  had  ever  had  before. 

His  death  has  been  a  terrible 
blow  to  all  the  Royal  Family,  but  in 
the  midst  of  their  terrible  grief  the 
Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  cannot 
but  feel  consoled  by  the  overwhelm- 
ing sympathy  that  has  been  poured 
out  upon  them  not  only  by  English 
hearts ;  but  from  Ireland,  Scotland 
and  Wales,  and  from  the  greater 
England  beyond  the  sea. 

There  is  something  infinitely  pa- 
thetic about  the  death  of  their  eldest 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  8 


3 


son,  just  a  week  after  his  twenty- 
eighth  birthday  and  the  month  be- 
fore his  wedding.  All  England  has 
wept  with  the  Royal  Family,  and 
foreigners  realize  as  never  before 
the  depth  and  strength  of  English 
loyalty.  The  crowds  that  lined  the 
streets  in  front  of  Marlborough 
House  when  Prince  Eddie  lay  ill, 
contained  many  work-people  and 
clerks ;  and  the  grief  and  respect 
shown  by  the  lower  classes  every- 
where has  been  a  wonder  to  all,  and 
a  complete  refutation  of  Andrew 
Carnegie's  windy  diatribes  as  to  the 
progress  of  democracy  in  England. 
There  is  no  jarring  note  in  the  sym- 
pathy of  grief,  for  no  word  has  been 
said  against  the  dead  Prince  —  noth- 
ing but  praise  and  a  hearty  recog- 
nition of  his  modesty  and  hard  work. 
We  shall  see,  when  we  review  the 
history  of  his  engagement,  something 
of  his  strength  of  character. 

Prince  Albert  Victor  Christian 
Edward  was  born  at  Frogmore, 
Windsor,  on  January  8,  1864,  and 
his  names  were  carefully  chosen, 
representing  two  grandfathers  (the 
Prince  Consort,  and  the  King  of 
Denmark)  ;  one  grandmother  (the 
Queen) ;  and  a  great-grandfather  (the 
Duke  of  Kent,  Queen  Victoria's 
father).  The  Queen  preferred  the 
two  first  names,  and  so,  until  he  was 


84  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

created  Duke  of  Clarence  in  1890, 
his  official  designation  was  Prince 
Albert  Victor  of  Wales.  But  to  the 
great  mass  of  the  English  people  he 
was  always  Prince  Edward,  or 
Prince  Eddie  as  he  was  affection- 
ately called,  for  Edward  was  a  name 
that  held  glorious  associations  for 
them  and  they  looked  forward  to 
having  another  "  Long-shanks  "  on 
the  throne. 

The  history  of  his  life  has  been 
repeated  so  often  that  it  is  only 
necessary  to  recall  a  few  incidents  : 
his  two  years  as  naval  cadet  in  the 
training  ship  Britannia  at  Dart- 
mouth with  his  brother ;  his  three 
years'  cruise  around  the  world  in 
the  Bacchante ;  his  studies  at  Cam- 
bridge and  Heidelberg ;  and  his 
tour  in  India.  He  and  his  brother, 
Prince  George,  had  always  been  to- 
gether until  their  choice  of  profes- 
sions separated  them.  Prince  Ed- 
die went  with  all  his  soul  into  army 
work  and  Prince  George  chose  the 
navy.  The  grief  of  the  British  army 
at  Prince  Eddie's  death  shows  what 
Tommy  Atkins  thought  of  him. 

During  the  last  six  years  in  Eng- 
land every  one  has  been  wondering 
why  Prince  Eddie  did  not  marry  and 
settle  the  succession ;  and,  finally, 
the  truth  leaked  out  last  year,  al- 
though long  before  that  his  atten- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  85 

tions  to  his  pretty  cousin,  Princess 
May  of  Teck,  had  attracted  atten- 
tion. Ever  since  they  had  played 
together  as  children  he  had  been 
devoted  to  her,  and  his  father  and 
mother  heartily  approved  his  choice. 
The  Queen,  his  royal  grandmother, 
resolutely  opposed  all  thoughts  of 
this  match  and  brought  pressure 
to  bear  to  get  Prince  Eddie  to 
marry  his  cousin.  Princess  Mar- 
garet of  Prussia,  a  daughter  of  the 
Empress  Frederick  and  sister  of  the 
present  Kaiser.  But  Prince  Eddie 
was  firm  and  declared  if  he  could  not 
marry  Princess  May  he  would  not 
marry  any  one.  And  so  matters  stood 
for  several  years.  But  when  Princess 
Louise  of  Wales  (who  is  next  in  suc- 
cession after  Prince  George)  mar- 
ried the  Duke  of  Fife,  the  necessit)'- 
for  the  marriage  of  Prince  Eddie 
grew  greater,  as  there  was  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  the  great  English 
nobles  would  hardly  care  to  have  the 
children  of  the  Duke  of  Fife  rule 
over  them  if  the  other  branches  failed. 
But  even  yet  Prince  Eddie  stood  firm 
and  would  not  yield,  although  at  last 
even  the  Prince  of  Wales  urged  com- 
pliance with  the  Queen's  wishes. 
And  finally  Prince  Eddie's  reward 
came.  When  Prince  George  was  so 
ill  with  typhoid,  popular  sentiment 
urged  Prince  Eddie's  marriage  and 


86  AS    THE    GROW    FLIES. 

then  the  Queen  gave  in  and  made  the 
two  young  people  happy. 

The  public  announcement  of  the 
engagement  was  received  with  uni- 
versal joy,  for  Princess  May  was 
thoroughly  English,  and  both  the 
fiancees  leaped  at  once  into  great 
popularity.  They  went  down  to 
Windsor  together  to  salute  the 
Queen,  and  everything  seemed  to 
give  universal  satisfaction.  Even 
Her  Majesty  relaxed  when  she  saw 
how  joyfully  her  subjects  received 
the  news  of  the  royal  betrothal,  and 
the  Prince  of  Wales  declared  at  a 
public  dinner  his  delight  that  his 
son  was  to  marry  a  Princess  who 
was  English  by  birth,  education  and 
preference.  The  ground  of  the 
Queen's  objection  to  the  marriage 
was  simple,  and  she  was  soon  con- 
vinced that  the  English  nation  at- 
tached no  importance  to  it.  On  her 
mother's  side,  Princess  May  is 
descended  from  King  George  III. 
and  stands  in  nearly  the  same  rela- 
tionship to  that  monarch  as  her  late 
betrothed,  for  the  Duchess  of  Teck 
is  the  daughter  of  King  George's 
son,  the  Duke  of  Cambridge ;  and 
Queen  Victoria's  father  the  Duke 
of  Kent,  was  another  son  ;  so  the 
Queen  and  the  Duchess  of  Teck  are 
first  cousins  ;  Princess  May  and  the 
Prince  of  Wales  second  cousins  ;  and 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  87 

Princess  May  and  Prince  Eddie  sec- 
ond cousins  once  removed.  But  the 
Duke  of  Teck's  pedigree  was  the 
trouble,  for  he  is  the  descendant 
of  a  morganatic  marriage,  and  but 
for  that  would  now  be  heir  to  the 
throne  of  Wurtemburg.  The  Eng- 
lish people  found  no  fault  with 
Princess  May's  descent,  and,  indeed, 
a  sweeter,  more  gracious,  more 
charming  Princess  it  would  be  hard 
to  find.  The  marriage  was  fixed  for 
February,  and  soon  wedding  gifts 
began  to  pour  in.  Committees  were 
formed  all  over  the  British  Empire 
for  the  purpose  of  subscribing  to  a 
national  gift.  In  Ireland  it  had 
been  decided  to  present  the  royal 
bride  and  bridegroom  with  a  castle, 
and  Scotland  and  Wales  were  plan- 
ning the  same  gifts.  Bridesmaids 
were  chosen  and  everything  seemed 
to  smile  upon  the  national  rejoicing. 
When  Princess  May  went  with  her 
father  and  mother  to  pay  a  visit  to 
the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  at 
Sandringham  early  in  January,  huge 
shooting  parties  were  organized  in 
which  Prince  Eddie  joined,  and 
every  morning  the  ladies  of  the 
Royal  Family  drove  out  to  join  the 
sportsmen  at  luncheon.  On  one  of 
these  occasions,  on  a  rainy,  misty 
day,  Prince  Eddie  complained  of 
feeling    very    cold,    and    instead    of 


88  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

waiting  to  drive  back  with  the 
others,  walked  briskly  home  to 
Sandringham  with  Princess  May. 
The  next  day  he  was  better  and  in- 
sisted upon  going  out  with  the  other 
sportsmen.  Again  he  was  com- 
pelled to  leave  them,  and  again  he 
walked  back  with  Princess  May. 
How  she  must  value  the  remem- 
brance of  those  two  walks  now ! 
This  was  on  the  Friday.  On  Sun- 
day he  was  ill,  on  Tuesday  alarming 
bulletins  were  issued,  and  on  Thurs- 
day he  was  dead.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it ! 
On  the  threshold  of  his  career,  on  the 
eve  of  his  marriage  he  was  taken. 
One  is  tempted  to  ask  Ciii  bono  2 

He  will  have  his  place  in  English 
History  ;  and  the  memory  of  my  day 
at  Windsor  will  always  linger  ;  for  I 
have  seen  what  is  of  more  interest 
than  the  Castle,  with  all  its  wealth  of 
art  —  the  loyalty  of  a  people  to  their 
Royal  House  in  its  time  of  trial. 


SCARBOROUGH. 


CARBOROUGH.  —  The 

seaside  resorts  of  Eng- 
land are  numberless,  and 
yet  there  is  a  curious 
lack  of  similarity  in  their 
surroundings,  their  atmosphere  and  in 
their  class  of  visitors.  Scarborough  is 
to  the  north  of  England  what  Bourne- 
mouth is  to  the  south.  It  is  select  and 
exclusive,  but  the  ultra  smart  London 
set  is  not  found  in  its  purlieus.  It  is  a 
great  place  of  resort  for  the  old  York- 
shire families — families  who  can  trace 
their  descent  back  to  Norman  Will- 
iam and  behind  him  to  the  Saxon 
Thanes  and  Earls ;  and  who  look 
with  ill-concealed  disgust  upon  the 
nouveaux  ricJies  who  are  so  painfully 
to  the  fore  just  now  in  Belgravian 
drawing  rooms  and  at  crushes  in 
Mayfair.  Scarborough  is  not  wildly 
gay ;  its  visitors  take  their  pleas- 
ures sedately,  and  the  voice  of  the 
imitation  nigger-minstrel  is  unheard 
in  the  land.  One  needs  to  be  in  rude 
health  to  enjoy  Scarborough,  for  the 
sea  breezes  come  rushing  in  from  the 
lap  of  the  Atlantic  to  mingle  with 
the  keen  air  of  the  downs ;  and  if 
one's  lungs  are  sound  it  is  a  delight 


90  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

to  live.  Hotel  prices  are  fearfully 
and  wonderfully  conceived  in-  Scar- 
borough, but  the  landlords  say  peo- 
ple eat  so  much  on  account  of  the 
splendid  air  that  they  must  charge 
high  prices  in  self-defence. 

The  amusements  and  distractions 
of  Scarborough  ?  If  one  hunts  or 
shoots  there  is  plenty  of  sport.  Sev- 
eral packs  of  hounds  meet  on  the 
downs  near  by,  and  although  the 
country  is  a  bit  stiff,  the  going  is 
fairly  decent.  It  may  perhaps  be 
considered  a  drawback  that  hounds 
occasionally  disappear  over  the  cliffs 
in  the  ardour  of  the  chase,  and  that  a 
too-eager  hunter  might  easily  do  the 
same — with  his  rider  on  his  back  ; 
but  most  men  who  hunt  here  say 
that  they  enjoy  the  spice  of  danger. 

Scarborough  has  two  features  dis- 
tinctively its  own  :  its  "Spa"  and  its 
cabs.  Just  wh}^  the  long  promenade 
where  the  band  plays  should  be 
called  the  "  Spa  "  no  one  knows,  but 
the  fact  remains,  and  every  Sunday 
all  the  world  and  his  wife  walk 
there  for  "  Church  Parade."  The 
Scarborough  cab  is  really  a  small 
Victoria,  drawn  by  one  horse,  ridden 
by  a  correctly-got-up  tiger,  who  lends 
a  picturesque  air  to  the  trap.  They 
go  well,  these  small  horses,  and 
gallop  up  and  down  the  long  hills  on 
which    Scarborough    is    built,    with 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  9 1 

greatest  ease.  The  "  day  tripper," 
with  his  'Arriet,  is  unknown  here,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  there  would 
be  nothing  for  him  to  do. 

There  are  no  stands  in  the  streets 
to  display  "s'rimps,"  "whilks"  and 
other  questionable  marine  delicacies, 
put  up  in  brown  paper  bags  at 
"tuppence  the  quart";  no  merry- 
go-rounds  ;  no  cheap  photographic 
studios  ;  or  one-horse  circuses  where 
the  manager  is  clown,  acrobat  and 
owner  in  one,  to  tempt  the  taste  and 
gratify  the  curiosity  of  the  lower 
classes.  And  there  are  no  Ameri- 
cans in  Scarborough.  It  is  too  far 
from  Paris,  and  too  quiet  for  the 
extraordinary  specimens  of  nasal 
tendencies,  who  make  an  annual  de- 
scent upon  the  Continent  and  swarm 
from  Dan  to  Beersheba.  One  never 
meets  them  at  home,  these  painfully 
rich  and  newly  varnished  Yankees 
who  travel  through  Great  Britain  in 
great  state  and  pomp,  and  whose 
breeding  is  shamed  by  that  of  the 
scullery  maid  in  the  cosy  little  inns 
they  so  disdain.  It  is  really  trying 
to  see  the  impression  most  English- 
men have  of  Americans — impressions 
gathered  simply  from  these  inflic- 
tions who,  knowing  no  one  but  the 
green-grocer  on  their  corner  at  home, 
come  abroad  to  astonish  the  natives  ; 
and  who   succeed  in  doing  nothing 


92  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

but  in  making  the  appellation  of 
American  to  stink  in  the  nostrils  of 
the  foreigner. 

Of  course  there  are  ruins  near 
Scarborough,  and  again  of  course 
the  favourite  drive  is  to  these  ruins. 
Another  excursion  is  to  a  hill  over- 
looking the  town,  where  tradition 
says  that  unsavoury  individual 
yclept  Oliver  Cromwell,  once  stood, 
or  sat  or  performed  some  other  oper- 
ation equally  important. 

Politically,  as  becomes  its  staid  and 
exclusive  clientele^  Scarborough  is 
Conservative  ;  and  has  no  sympathy 
with  an  old  man's  visionary  plans  to 
break  up  a  great  Empire.  Irish  agi- 
tators appear  occasionally  but  not 
often,  and  they  rarely  carry  away  a 
full  purse  from  the  collections  they 
invariably  take  up. 

Descriptions  of  places  are  invari- 
ably tiresome.  One  place  is  usually 
like  another,  and  the  best  way  to  know 
a  town  or  city  is  to  go  there  ;  but  an}^- 
one  who  can  picture  a  town  built  up 
on  the  cliffs  and  down  in  the  hollows 
between,  with  stretches  of  sandy 
beach  in  front,  will  have  a  fair  idea  of 
the  Bournemouth  of  the  north.  The 
country  round  about  Scarborough 
is  attractive;  Quaint  villages  quite 
out  of  the  world  like  Symsbury,  are 
met  with  at  every  turn  ;  small  mar- 
ket towns,  like  Yarm,  where  the  old 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  93 

custom  of  engaging  servants  by  the 
"  hold  fast "  in  the  market-place  on 
the  yearly  appointed  day  still  obtains  ; 
and  small  seaside  resorts,  like  Red- 
car  and  Coatbridge ;  with  Whitby 
famous  for  its  jet  ;  all  these  are 
worth  a  visit.  Yorkshire  men  are 
canny,  and  good  at  a  bargain  and  no 
better  judges  of  horseflesh  are  found 
anywhere.  The  only  drawback  con- 
nected with  Scarborough  is  its  dis- 
tance from  London,  but  that  is  really 
only  a  drawback  to  Londoners.  The 
Scarborough  man  is  rather  proud  of 
the  fact.  He  looks  with  pity  upon 
the  benighted  south  of  England 
man,  and  has  no  words  to  express 
his  contempt  for  the  finnicky  for- 
eigner, who  comes  to  Scarborough 
and  drinks  sour  red  wine,  instead  of 
quaffing  huge  draughts  of  the  glori- 
ous old  Yorkshire  ale. 


CLIMBING    IN    LAKELAND. 


OSTHWAITE,  NEAR 
KESWICK.— A  couple 
of  days  since  I  started 
off  with  a  barrister 
friend  to  do  a  days' 
climb  in  the  Lake  country.  He 
promised  me  a  good  view  from  the 
top  of  Scafell  Pike,  but  a  rough 
time  in  getting  there  ;  and  took  an 
almost  pathetic  interest  in  my  boots 
and  "shorts,"  hinting  darkly  that 
certain  mysterious  "screes,"  over 
which  the  path  lay,  would  test  their 
strength  and  durability  to  the  ut- 
most. We  travelled  third  class,  of 
course,  for  m}^  friend  would  have 
thought  me  insane  to  propose  any- 
thing else  ;  and,  really,  we  were  very 
comfortable,  as  all  the  seats  were 
cushioned.  He  wore  the  regulation 
British  walking  costume :  stout, 
heavy,  hob-nail  boots,  thick  woolen 
stockings,  and  loose  and  impossibly 
wide  knickerbockers ;  while  a  blue 
serge  jacket  and  a  peaked  cloth  cap 
clothed  his  upper  man.  Of  course, 
his  short  briar-wood  pipe  was  to  the 
fore,  and   on   the  whole,   he  looked 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  95 

comfortable.  My  own  get-up  was 
more  ordinary,  as  I  had  started  at 
half  an  hour's  notice. 

We  rushed  into  Darlington  sta- 
tion before  long — an  immense 
glass-covered  structure,  with  plat- 
forms half  a  mile  long  —  and  there 
changed  for  Penrith  and  Keswick. 
We  began  to  ascend  soon  after 
leaving  Darlington,  passing  by  Bar- 
nard Castle,  the  "  beauty  spot  of 
Yorkshire" — the  tracks  lying  over 
breezy  moorlands.  We  changed  at 
Penrith,  a  dreary  junction,  and 
reached  Keswick  about  seven  o'clock 
in  a  mist  of  half-twilight  that  was 
very  kind  to  the  distant  mountains, 
making  them  appear  much  bigger 
and  grander  than  they  were  ever 
meant  to  be.  Fortunately,  we  found 
the  Borrowdale  coach  still  running, 
and  as  it  would  take  us  within  two 
miles  of  our  destination,  we  were 
w^ell  pleased.  Before  it  started  we 
had  time  to  attend  a  very  lively 
meeting  of  the  Salvation  Army  in 
the  Keswick  market-place,  where 
the  tall,  thin  man  who  dealt  out 
freely  sundry  dismal  prophecies,  be- 
trayed painful  need  of  a  bronchial 
trochee. 

The  drive  on  the  box  seat  of  the 
four-in-hand  was  glorious.  The 
moon  came  out  as  we  reached  the 
edge  of  Derwentwater  and  threw  her 


g6  AS    THE    CROW    FLTES. 

soft  light  full  on  the  lonely  lake  ; 
and,  what  was  of  more  importance, 
on  the  broad  road  ahead  of  us. 
The  horses  were  fresh  and  the  road 
inclining  to  a  descent,  so  we  rolled 
gaily  on  past  the  Lodore  Hotel, 
hard-by  the  famous  falls,  until,  too 
soon,  we  stopped  before  the  Bor- 
rowdale  Inn.  Then,  with  a  cheery 
good-night  from  the  coachman,  we 
started  to  walk  the  remaining  two 
miles,  our  appetites  forcibly  remind- 
ing us  that  we  had  eaten  nothing 
since  early  morning ;  and  with  a 
cheery  feeling  of  expectancy  for  the 
comforts  of  the  inn  presided  over  by 
the  famous  Mrs.  Rigg.  The  lights 
of  the  little  hamlet  of  Rosthwaite 
soon  appeared  and  we  halted  at  a 
long,  low,  straggling  house,  buried 
in  vines.  A  tall,  stout  lady  stood 
in  the  doorway  and  proved  her- 
self to  be  t/ie  Mrs.  Rigg  by  the  way 
in  which  she  bustled  about  in  all 
directions,  calling  several  buxom 
country  lasses  to  her  aid.  She  sent 
two  of  them  to  prepare  our  much- 
wanted  supper,  while  she  herself 
piloted  us  to  our  quaint,  low-ceil- 
inged  bed-rooms,  where  every  bed 
had  curtains.  Now,  Mrs.  Rigg  is  a 
widow,  and  has  been  ever  since  the 
memory  of  man,  and  concerning  the 
original  Mr.  Rigg  nothing  is  known  ; 
but,    whoever   he    was,   people   take 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


more  interest  in  the  fact  that  his 
wife  knows  how  to  keep  a  good 
homely  inn,  called  by  Mrs.  Rigg 
herself  the  "  Royal  Oak,"  but  known 
to  all  the  neighbourhood  as  "Mrs. 
Rigg's."  Mrs.  R.  herself  is  a  tall, 
stout  old  lady  with  a  false  front 
and  an  imposing  cap,  and  when  she 
sits  in  the  little  bar  parlour  behind 
the  steaming  tea  kettle,  reading 
the  Family  Herald,  she  presents  a 
picture  of  comfort  not  easily  sur- 
passed. Mrs.  Rigg  is  suspected  of 
a  leaning  toward  the  village  painter, 
to  the  regret  of  all  concerned,  and 
dismal  are  the  forebodings  of  the 
aforesaid  country  lassies  should  she 
yield  herself  (and  her  inn)  to  his 
fascinations.  We  enjoyed  our  sup- 
per—  huge  chops  served  with  mealy 
potatoes  and  foaming  tankards  of 
"bitter" — and  then  in  the  cozy 
smoke  room  (why  never  smoking 
room  in  England?),  we  proceeded  to 
lay  out  the  route  for  the  next  day. 
Our  intention  in  coming  to  Ros- 
thwaite  had  been  to  climb  Scafell 
Pike  and,  possibly  Glaramara ;  so 
we  confidently  looked  forward  to 
a  fine  day.  But,  oh,  the  despair 
when  we  woke  up  next  morning, 
for  the  rain  was  coming  down  in 
a  steady  drizzle  and  the  mist  was 
floating  gently  over  and  about  all 
the  mountain  tops  within  view.     We 


98  AS    THE.  CROW    FLIES. 

met  with  rueful  faces  in  the  coffee 
room,  for  now  Scafell  was  quite  out 
of  the  question  as  well  as  Glara- 
mara  ;  for,  of  course,  no  view  could 
be  had  on  such  a  day,  and  the  idea 
of  wandering  along  the  edge  of 
precipices  in  the  mist  was  hardly 
tempting. 

But  an  inspiration  came  to  us.  It 
was  unanimously  voted  a  pity  to 
waste  that  day,  as  we  should  be 
obliged  to  return  on  the  next ;  so, 
after  much  poring  over  maps  and 
guides,  we  decided  to  go  as  far  up 
Scafell  as  possible  and  then,  making 
a  circuit,  to  return  by  Sty  Head 
Pass.  This  sounded  easy  and  I  be- 
gan to  congratulate  myself  —  rather 
previously,  as  it  afterward  turned 
out  —  upon  the  probability  of  get- 
ting back  in  time  for  dinner  at  six. 
We  had  scraped  acquaintance  with 
an  "undergrad"  from  Oxford  — 
Wadham  College  —  and  we  invited 
him  to  go  with  us.  We  hurried  over 
breakfast,  taking  care,  fortunately, 
to  eat  a  hearty  one  ;  and  then,  with 
a  rueful  look  at  the  cozy,  firelit 
room  we  were  leaving,  tramped  out 
into  the  rain  about  ten  o'clock.  We 
knew  we  should  get  wet  through,  so 
we  took  no  overcoats  and  simply 
buttoned  our  jackets  tight  about  our 
necks  to  keep  our  flannel  shirts  dry 
as  long  as  possible. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  99 

The  road  was  very  good  for  some 
distance,  being  the  coach  road  to 
Buttermere,  so  we  went  gaily  on. 
About  two  miles  from  Rosthwaite  we 
reached  the  queerly-named  little  vil- 
lage of  Seatollar  (which  our  Wad- 
ham  friend  insisted  on  referring  to 
as  ''Tolloller "),  where  we  turned 
off  into  a  rustic  road  overgrown 
with  grass,  which  for  some  time  led 
us  among  pine  groves  before  bring- 
ing us  to  the  famous  Borrowdale 
yews :  a  group  of  fine  old  firs  upon 
the  hillside.  Here  our  Oxonian 
again  would  have  it  that  the  name 
applied  to  the  various  flocks  of 
sheep  grazing  near  and  pointed  out 
to  us  some  "genuine  Borrowdale 
ewes."  It  got  damper  and  damper 
as  we  went  on,  but  I  ceased  to  won- 
der when  I  heard  we  were  drawing 
near  the  "wettest  place  in  England," 
the  hamlet  of  Seathwaite,  where  the 
annual  rainfall  is  actually  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty-six  inches  !  There  is 
not  much  of  interest  in  Seathwaite 
except  its  moisture  and  the  fact  that 
it  has  no  public  house,  as  Sir  Wilfred 
Lawson  the  great  temperance  advo- 
cate owns  all  the  freehold. 

Here  we  left  the  road  and  struck 
up  the  side  of  the  valley,  having- 
Glaramara  and  Great  Gable  in  front 
of  us,  two  big  mountains  covered 
with     clouds ;      while     Talyors-Gill 


lOO  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

poured  its  rushing,  thread-like 
stream  down  the  hillside  opposite. 
Here  we  first  began  to  walk  on 
grass,  and  grass  that  had  been 
rained  on  for  the  last  hundred  years 
without  intermission,  judging  from  its 
appearance.  But  we  said  little  and 
pushed  on  by  the  side  of  the  beck 
for  some  time,  until  it  became  neces- 
sary to  go  straight  up  the  mountain 
by  the  sheep  track,  which  was  marked 
only  b}^  an  occasional  cairn  or  small 
heap  of  stones.  It  was  hard  work  to 
climb  over  slippery  rocks  almost 
perpendicular ;  but  we  persevered 
and  surmounted  the  hill,  only  to  find 
ourselves  struggling  in  a  green  bog 
at  the  top.  The  rain  now  came 
down  harder  than  ever  and  as  the 
Oxford  man  began  to  whistle  "Wot 
Ch'er  ? "  we  felt  gloomy.  We  pushed 
on  in  single  file,  each  one  dripping 
as  he  walked,  the  sound  of  the  water 
swashing  about  inside  our  boots 
being  painfully  evident.  We  went 
on  like  this  for  some  time.  My 
friend  suddenly  broke  into  a  shout, 
"  Here  we  are,  boys,  thank  good- 
ness, this  is  Eske  Hause."  "Oh, 
then  we  are  half  way  up  Scafell," 
said  the  Oxonian — "hang  the  mist !  " 
.  This  last  observation  was  timely, 
for  a  thick  Scotch  mist  had  now 
shut  in  upon  the  small  plateau 
known    as   Eske   Hause,   where   we 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  lOI 

Stood,  but  as  to  the  derivation  of 
that  name  deponent  sayeth  not.  We 
stopped  here  for  a  few  minutes 
while  our  Oxonian  produced  a  guide 
map,  and  with  the  water  pouring 
down  from  the  peak  of  his  cap,  pro- 
ceeded to  mark  out  our  path.  The 
rest  of  us  wrung  ourselves  out  and 
paid  as  much  attention  as  we  could. 
"  We  must  go  down  by  Sprinkling 
Tarn  (good  name,  that)  and  then  by 
Sty  Head  Tarn  until  we  get  to  the 
Pass.  Now,  shall  we  lunch  up  here 
or  down  by  the  tarn  .? "  We  decided 
to  postpone  luncheon  until  we 
reached  a  lower  and  presumably 
warmer  level,  and  we  eagerly  pro- 
ceeded to  make  the  descent.  The 
path,  or  track,  was  steep  and  stony 
and  the  stones  were  slippery.  I  will 
draw  a  veil  over  that  descent,  but 
when  we  got  down  by  Sprinkling  Tarn 
(a  small,  lonely  bit  of  water)  we  felt 
like  being  put  through  a  wringer. 
We  hurried  on,  not  noticing  that  the 
path  had  merged  itself  impercept- 
ibly in  the  surrounding  turf,  until 
our  Wadham  friend  exclaimed  :  "  Oh, 
I  say,  you  know,  this  can't  be  right. 
It's  quite  time  we  were  at  that  con- 
founded tarn  and  I  haven't  seen  a 
cairn  this  half  hour."  It  was  too 
true.  We  were  off  the  track.  There 
was  mist  all  about  us  and  the  keen 
rain    was    chilling    us    through    and 


I02  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

through.  We  searched  for  the  path 
in  vain,  until  we  were  entirely  dis- 
couraged, when  some  one  suggested 
that  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to 
have  a  bite  ;  so  we  stood  about  in  a 
dripping  group  as  we  got  out  our 
sandwiches  and  flasks.  We  were 
wet  and  chilled,  and  I  doubt  if  Sir 
Wilfred  himself  would  have  objected 
to  a  taste  of  Scotch  whisky  under 
the  circumstances.  But  the  sand- 
wiches !  Oh,  Mrs.  Rigg,  Mrs.  Rigg, 
how  we  blessed  you,  there,  on  the 
steep  side  of  Scafell  as  we  found  that 
the  ham  of  which  they  were  exclus- 
ively composed  had  "gone  bad!" 
We  said  little,  but  we  thought  hard 
just  then. 

After  that  we  went  sadly  and  si- 
lently on.  Soon  we  found  we  were 
going  down  instead  of  up,  which  we 
knew  to  be  wrong,  as  Sty  Head  Pass 
was  above  us.  And  now  the  thun- 
ders of  a  torrent  swollen  by  recent 
rains  began  to  be  heard,  and  pres- 
ently we  came  in  sight  of  a  tumbling 
mass  of  water  hurrying  along  the 
bottom  of  the  valley.  We  stood 
aghast,  for  this  we  knew  must  be 
Lingmell  Beck,  and  the  valley  the 
one  leading  to  Wastwater,  miles 
away  from  the  Pass.  Night  was 
closing  in  and  the  mist  was  nothing 
lighter,  while  it  was  really  hard  to 
carry  the  wet  and  dripping  mass  our 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  I03 

clothes  had  become.  We  wandered 
up  and  down  this  valley  for  some 
time  in  bewilderment,  not  finding  any 
trace  of  a  path.  But  at  last  my  friend, 
who  had  been  carefully  examining 
the  mountain  side,  cried  but :  "  Look, 
boys,  there's  the  Pass,  way  above 
us  !  We  must  push  straight  up  if  we 
ever  want  to  get  back  to-night." 

We  looked  doubtfully  at  the  thin 
black  line  that  might  be  the  Pass, 
and  which  seemed  miles  above  us, 
and  then,  with  one  determined  look, 
set  our  teeth  and  went  up  the  mount- 
ain. I  say  went,  for  we  didn't  walk, 
although  we  used  every  other  means 
of  progression,  for  we  crawled  and 
crept  and  stumbled  along,  some- 
times on  our  hands  and  knees,  fre- 
quentl}'-  sliding  back  with  great 
agility.  I  never  experienced  such 
a  climb  anywhere,  even  in  Greece 
among  the  wild  Theban  mount- 
ains ;  for,  dripping  wet,  with  our 
clammy  clothes  clinging  to  us,  we 
went  a  solid  mile  up  that  hill  be- 
fore we  found  the  Sty  Head  Pass. 
That,  although  rough,  was  child's 
play  compared  with  what  we  had 
come  through,  and  when  we  reached 
the  small  cairn  that  marks  the  high- 
est part  of  the  Pass,  we  shuddered 
as  we  looked  down  the  almost  per- 
pendicular mountain  and  wondered 
how  on  earth  we  ever  came  up. 


I04 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 


From  the  top  of  the  Pass  it  was  a 
fairly  easy  walk  to  Rosthwaite  by 
Sty  Head  Tarn,  which,  owing  to  the 
encircling  mist,  looked  like  an  im- 
mense ocean. 

Mrs.  Rigg  was  at  the  door  when 
we  got  down  and  looked  so  cheerful 
and  glad  to  see  us  that  we  forgot  to 
mention  that  ham.  But  we  haven't 
got  the  damp  of  that  walk  out  of 
ourselves  yet ;  and  it  is  doubtful  if 
anything  but  the  warm  Italian  sun 
is  capable  of  removing  the  general 
mildew  that  enshrouds  us. 


^^^^^^^^l 


WINDERMERE. 

MBLESIDE.— The  chief 
peculiarity  of  the  Lake 
country  is  the  ever-pres- 
ent dampness.  But  once 
used  to  this  one  begins 
enter  into  its  peace  and  quiet, 
month  here  away  from  the  world 
would  be,  to  a  tired  and  overworked 
man,  better  than  all  "cures"  or  sani- 
toriums,  for  the  damp  is  not  the  city 
pest,  but  that  peculiar  kind  of  moist- 
ure which  makes  the  hard,  smooth 
turf  as  green  as  an  emerald  and  gives 
to  the  temporary  visitor  an  appetite 
wolfish  in  its  intensity. 

Ambleside  is  five  miles  from  Win- 
dermere village  (the  nearest  station) 
and  is  reached  by  four-horse  drags 
running  three  times  a  day.  The 
road  is  as  smooth  as  a  billiard  table, 
tha  horses  always  fresh,  and  on 
the  day  it  doesn't  rain,  a  drive  to 
Ambleside  by  the  Lake  is  a  thing  to 
be  remembered. 

Ambleside  is  a  village  of  a  few 
thousand  inhabitants  and  primitive, 
to  a  certain  degree.  The  Post  Of- 
fice, for  instance,  is  in  a  stationer's 


Io6  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

shop  and  the  drapers'  and  tailors' 
estabhshments  are  one.  Ambleside 
is  nestled  at  the  foot  of  Wansfell 
Pike  and  is  built  on  the  side  of  a 
hill,  consequently  the  streets  are 
steep.  There  is  but  one  street  really, 
and  the  chemist,  the  butcher  and  the 
inevitable  relic  shop  are  to  be 
found  in  it.  The  village  is  honey- 
combed with  lodgings  and  there  are 
many  inns,  for  it  is  a  great  centre 
for  excursions.  The  immediate 
neighbourhood  is  rich  in  attractions. 
Stock-Ghyll  Force  is  but  a  short 
distance  off  —  through  the  stable 
yard  of  the  "Salutation  Inn,"  and 
although  a  turn-stile  with  the  sign 
"  No  Admission "  appears,  one  may 
enter  boldly  without  paying.  The 
waterfall  is  not  high  but  is  wonder- 
fully picturesque  as  it  falls  down  the 
moss-covered  rocks  and  dashes  away 
through  a  deep  ravine.  The  Stock- 
Ghyll  is  a  favorite  resort  for  newly- 
married  couples  and  is  certainly  ro- 
mantic enough  for  the  purpose. 
Then  there  is  a  charming  walk  to 
Rydal  —  Wordsworth's  village  —  by 
the  banks  of  the  Rothay,  past  Fox- 
How,  where  the  noble  Arnold  of 
Rugby,  beloved  by  all  readers  of 
"Tom  Brown's  School  Days,"  lived  ; 
and  Fox-Ghyll,  the  residence  of  the 
late  Mr.  Foster.  Fox-How  is  an 
ideally  perfect  place,  situate  on  the 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  107 

side  of  a  hill,  with  a  smooth  green 
expanse  of  lawn  in  front,  and  buried 
in  rose  vines  and  honeysuckles.  It 
is  a  low  stone  building  with  old- 
fashioned  windows  and  has  a 
cheery,  hospitable  look.  The  name 
is  curious  and  a  frequent  one  in  the 
lake  country.  It  comes,  I  believe, 
from  the  old  Norwegian  word 
"hague"  (a  sepulchral  mound). 
Dr.  Arnold  named  the  three  roads 
between  Rydal  and  Grassmere.  The 
highest  he  called  Corruption  Road, 
the  middle  Bit-by-Bit  Reform  (now 
called  Bitbit  Road),  and  the  most 
level,  Radical  Reform.  A  little  fur- 
ther on  is  Rydal  Mount,  Words- 
worth's home,  a  charming  old  place, 
cushioned  in  trees.  There  the  road 
goes  on  by  Rydal  Water,  a  small 
lake  almost  covered  with  rushes, 
and  then  through  a  gap  in  the 
mountain  to  Grassmere.  This  is  all 
haunted  ground,  for  Wordsworth, 
Southey,  Coleridge  and  De  Quincy 
all  walked  and  mused  by  the  side 
of  these  lakes  and  on  these  hills, 
and  one  hardly  wonders  that  they 
were  inspired  by  the  lovely  scenery. 
Then,  in  another  direction,  one  may 
walk  from  Ambleside  to  the  quaint 
little  village  of  Clappersgate,  which 
is  made  up  entirely  of  low  grey 
stone  cottages  covered  with  vines 
and  roses.    The  resources  of  Amble- 


Io8  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

side  in  providing  day  excursions  for 
its  visitors  are  really  unbounded,  and 
one  of  the  pleasantest  of  these  is  to 
walk  down  to  Waterhead,  at  the  end 
of  Windermere,  and  take  passage  on 
one  of  the  small  steamers  that  run 
several  times  a  day.  As  the  small 
vessel  starts  out  from  the  pier  one  gets 
a  splendid  view  of  the  mountains  at 
the  back  of  Ambleside,  and  the  little 
village  looks  like  a  cluster  of  one  or 
two  houses  in  a  vast  amphitheatre. 
Then  we  turn  around  a  wooded 
point  and  stop  for  a  minute  at  Low- 
wood,  the  big  hotel  on  the  bor- 
der of  the  lake,  and  then  go  on 
past  hills  and  valleys  and  flocks  of 
sheep  to  Bowness,  passing  two  or 
three  small  islands,  one  of  which, 
Holm  Crag,  is  a  favorite  resort  of 
birds  in  the  winter  months.  Then 
we  dart  over  the  lake  to  the  little 
island  of  Ferry,  and  then  go  straight 
on  past  a  bewildering  number  of 
bays  and  islets  to  Lakeside  at  the 
foot  of  the  lake  where  the  railway 
station  of  the  Midland  line  gives  ac- 
cess to  Ulverston  and  the  iron  coun- 
try of  Furness. 

Windermere  is  almost  equal  to 
Lake  Geneva,  and  although  it  has 
become  the  fashion  to  cry  down  the 
English  lakes,  it  is  a  fact  that  more 
enjoyment  at  an  extremely  moderate 
outlay  may  be  obtained  in  the  small 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  109 

belt  of  country  that  contains  them, 
than  in  Switzerland,  overrun  as  it  is 
by  the  cockneys  and  parvenues  of 
every  nation.  I  know  of  hardly  any 
greater  treat  to  a  person  of  any 
artistic  appreciation  than  that  trip 
up  and  down  Windermere  on  a  clear 
day.  Then  the  drives  from  Amble- 
side are  charming.  One  may  drive 
to  Grassmere  by  Red  Bank,  a  steep 
hill  overlooking  that  lake  and  Rydal 
Water,  and  also  to  Hawkshead, 
where  a  very  curious  old  church 
demands  attention ;  and  to  High 
Wray,  where  there  is  an  inn  re- 
joicing in  the  name  of  "The  Dun 
Cow."  A  hill  outside  High  Wray 
commands  a  splendid  view  of  the 
hills  behind  and  about  Ambleside  : 
Loughrigg  Fell,  Wansfell  Pike,  Nab- 
Scar,  Crinkle  Crags,  Coniston-Old- 
Man  and  Great  Gable.  On  a  clear 
day  one  may  also  see  Helvellyn. 
The  road  passes  Wray  Castle,  a  mod- 
ern house  built  to  imitate  perfectly  a 
mediaeval  fortress.  The  owner  is  a 
retired  M.D.  of  Liverpool.  Another 
delightful  drive  is  to  Langdale  Pikes 
and  to  Megeon  Ghyll,  a  lovely 
waterfall  rather  bigger  than  most  of 
the  cascades  in  Lakeland. 

On  this  drive  one  may  have  a 
capital  view  of  Red  Screes,  another 
of  the  high  mountains.  Curious 
names    are    met    with    all    through 


no  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Westmoreland.  For  instance,  three 
peaks  not  far  from  here  are  called 
Harrison  Stickle,  Pike  O'Stickle  and 
Pike  O'Blisco. 

There  are  many  curious  customs 
still  extant  in  and  about  Ambleside. 
Christmas  is  celebrated  in  the  old 
hospitable  way.  At  that  time  the 
farmer  and  his  family  are  away 
at  other  houses  night  after  night 
and  one  must  look  for  them  any- 
where but  at  home.  At  Christmas 
every  Cumberland  and  Westmore- 
land farrner  gives  two  banquets, 
one  called  "t'auld  foak's  neet"and 
the  other,  "t'young  foak's  neet ; " 
the  first  of  which  is  for  those  who 
are  married  and  the  second  for 
those  who  are  single.  The  tables 
groan  under  old-fashioned  dainties  : 
raised  and  mince  pies,  goose,  caudle 
cup,  "guid  Strang  yell,"  as  they  call 
the  home-brewed  October,  and  a 
huge  bowl  of  punch.  Intoxication 
never  happens  at  these  Cumberland 
feasts. 

Among  others,  Mrs.  Hemans  once 
had  a  cottage  on  Windermere  called 
"  Dove's  Nest,"  and  wrote  some 
verses  on  the  scenery,  which  are 
well  known  ;  but  she  can  hardly  be 
ranked  with  the  school  of  "Lake 
Poets." 

There  is  a  queer  old  rhyme 
current  in  the  district,  in  itself  a  sig- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  Ill 

nificant  comment  on  the  weather  of 
the  country  : 

* '  When  Wansfell  wears  a  cap  of  cloud 

The  roar  of  Brathay  will  be  loud  ; 

When  mists  come  down  on  Loughrigg  Fell, 

A  drenching  day  we  all  foretell  ; 

When  Red  Screes  frown  on  Ambleside, 

The  rain  will  pour  both  far  and  wide. 

When  Wansfell  smiles  and  Loughrigg's  bright, 

'Twill  surely  rain  before  the  night  ; 

If  breezes  blow  from  Bowness  Bay, 

'Tis  certain  to  be  wet  all  day  ; 

And  if  they  blow  from  Grassmere  Lake, 

You'd  better  an  umbrella  take. 

But  if  no  rain  should  fall  all  day 

From  Ambleside  to  Morecambe  Bay, 

Upon  that  morning  you  will  see 

Fishes  and  eels  in  every  tree  ; 

When  in  the  nets  on  Windermere 

Twelve  pickled  salmon  shall  appear, 

No  rain  shall  fall  upon  that  day 

And  men  may  safely  make  their  hay." 


SANDRINGHAM    HOUSE. 

'OLVERTON.  — The 

country  in  Norfolk  -is 
real  country  and  the 
scenery  is  typically  Eng- 
lish. The  Prince  Con- 
sort could  hardly  have  selected  a  more 
suitable  spot  than  Sandringham  for 
the  country  seat  of  the  Heir  Appar- 
ent ;  and  the  fact  that  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Wales  make  Sandringham 
House  their  headquarters  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  year  has  natur- 
ally given  an  impetus  to  property  in 
the  neighbourhood. 

Sandringham  House  is  not  a  pal- 
ace. It  is  simply  large,  genial, 
hospitable  and  attractive,  like  its 
master.  The  Prince  of  Wales  is  a 
much  discussed  man,  and  the  ordin- 
ary American  who  has  not  travelled 
and  who  derives  his  knowledge  of 
English  affairs  from  the  American 
daily  papers  —  which  usually  give 
only  that  side  of  the  question  which 
is  acceptable  to  the  Liberals  and 
Radicals  of  Great  Britain — has  little 
idea  of  his  personality,  and  does  not 
begin  to  gauge  the  strength  of  his 
character. 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  II3 

The  Prince  is  usually  supposed  to 
be  a  jovial,  good-natured  man  who 
devotes  his  whole  time  to  pleasure, 
and  who  has  no  ideal  in  life  beyond 
the  pursuit  of  social  gayeties  and 
field  sports.  This  is  a  total  and 
gross  mistake.  The  Prince  of  Wales 
is  one  of  the  most  hard-working  men 
in  the  Kingdom,  and  the  humblest  of 
his  future  subjects  has  probably  more 
time  to  himself  than  the  Heir  Ap- 
parent ;  and,  I  venture  to  say,  does 
not  spend  it  half  so  usefully  as  this 
much-abused  Prince. 

For  many  years  he  has  been  King 
of  England  in  everything  but  name, 
and  he  is  far  more  than  the  figure- 
head of  the  nation.  His  knowledge 
of  public  affairs  is  remarkable  ;  he  is 
a  master  of  diplomacy  and  his  tact  is 
famous.  Like  his  father,  he  pos- 
sesses a  fine  mind,  and  sometimes 
displays  a  depth  of  foresight  aston- 
ishing even  to  his  old  friend,  Mr. 
Gladstone.  He  has  a  happy  knack 
of  looking  at  all  sides  of  a  question, 
and  his  mature  judgment  upon  mat- 
ters of  public  import  is  often  sought 
by  statesmen  of  all  shades  of  opinion. 

He  has  never  meddled  in  politics, 
and  his  success  in  steering  a  straight 
course  among  the  quicksands  of 
party  passion  and  strife  is  well  shown 
by  a  dinner  he  gave  in  London  only 
the   other   day  to  the    King   of   the 


114  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Belgians,  at  which  Mr.  Gladstone  sat 
next  to  Lord  Salisbury,  and  Mr.  Bal- 
four chatted  pleasantly  with  Mr. 
John  Morley.  The  Prince  of  Wales 
alone  could  give  such  a  dinner.  A 
fair  estimate  of  the  Prince  is  rarely 
found  in  American  papers.  Because 
he  is  Prince  and  will  some  day  be- 
come King,  they  think  it  their  duty 
to  spatter  his  reputation  with  mud  ; 
and  to  show  their  "Republican  sym- 
pathies" (I  use  the  word  in  its  wid- 
est sense)  by  ill-digested  diatribes 
against  royalty.  The  Conservative 
party,  like  the  English  Court,  has 
hardly  a  representative  among  us, 
and  our  knowledge  of  important 
events  on  the  other  side  usually 
comes  from  a  "  Liberal  "  source.  It 
is  evident  that  in  many  cases  the 
American  papers  know  a  bitter  edi- 
torial against  the  Prince  of  Wales 
may  serve  some  political  end  of 
their  own  ;  and  they  never  hesitate 
to  sacrifice  him  on  such  occasions. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that 
the  most  popular  man  in  England  is 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  Even  the  Radi- 
cals cheer  him,  for  he  is  always  ready 
to  do  anyone  a  good  turn,  while  still 
careful  of  his  dignity.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  note  the  Prince's  daily  life  at 
Sandringham,  his  country  seat,  where 
he  appears  as  a  simple  Squire. 

Saturday-to-Monday    parties    are 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  II5 

frequent  at  Sandringham  in  the  au- 
tumn when  the  shooting  has  begun  ; 
and  often  seven  or  eight  gentlemen  ; 
a  General,  an  Admiral,  a  Diplomat 
or  two,  with  their  wives,  a  foreign 
Prince  or  Nobleman,  and  possibly  a 
Bishop,  assemble  on  Friday  evening. 
These  with  the  household  officers 
make  up  the  party ;  and  gathered 
under  the  rose-shaded  candles  around 
the  flower-laden  table  in  the  dining 
room  they  present  a  varied  picture 
of  gay  and  stern  humanity.  No 
sooner  is  the  substantial  dinner  over 
than  McKay,  the  Scotch  piper, 
emerges  from  a  neighbouring  room 
and  intones  some  wild  Scotch  air  on 
his  bag-pipes.  In  the  evening  the 
Prince  and  Princesss  move  from 
group  to  group  in  the  drawing  room, 
saying  a  few  pleasant  words  to  each 
of  the  guests,  and  then  withdraw  to 
their  private  apartments,  while  music 
by  some  famous  pianist  usually  closes 
the  evening.  Baccarat  is  never 
played  at  Sandringham,  and  the 
smoking-room  cohort  breaks  up 
early.  Breakfast  is  served  at  half- 
after-nine  (previous  to  which  several 
gongs  have  sent  their  echoes  loudly 
through  the  house)  at  small  round 
tables  in  the  dining  room,  and  the 
meal  must  be  quickly  despatched, 
for  at  eleven  the  carriages  start  for 
the    meeting-place,    whether   all   the 


Il6  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

guests  are  ready  or  not.  A  four-horse 
drag  carries  eight  or  ten  guests  with 
their  guns  and  game  bags ;  and  an 
array  of  dog-carts,  village-carts  and 
various  traps  is  at  the  disposal  of  the 
remaining  visitors.  A  breezy  morn- 
ing on  the  moors  is  followed  by  a 
merry  al-fresco  meal  in  a  tent,  where 
curries  from  India  await  the  Hindoo 
Maharajahs,  and  a  juicy  ham  sent  by 
the  King  of  Portugal  tempts  the  or- 
dinary appetite,  while  savoury  Irish 
stews  show  the  Hibernian  sympa- 
thies of  the  Prince.  The  genial 
Host  always  rides  a  grey  cob  to  and 
from  the  moors  ;  at  dusk  the  traps 
and  drags  again  appear ;  and  the 
party,  indulging  in  cigars  and  lively 
chat,  returns  gaily  to  the  house. 
After  a  change  of  garments  and  a 
"  tub,"  they  are  just  in  the  mood  to 
enjoy  the  comfort  of  the  sitting  room, 
where  the  charming  Princess  presides 
behind  the  tea  tray,  looking  more 
like  a  sister  of  her  three  tall  daugh- 
ters than  anything  else.  No  one,  of 
course,  really  sits  down  to  tea  ;  each 
one  takes  his  cup  and  wanders 
through  the  rooms,  stopping  to  listen 
for  a  moment  to'  the  piano,  or  to  ad- 
mire the  small  green  parrot  who 
gives  three  very  emphatic  and  loyal 
cheers  for  the  Queen.  When  the 
guests  finally  leave  this  most  hospit- 
able and  royal  house  they  are  sure 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  II7 

to  find  among  their  luggage  at  the 
station  a  well-filled  hamper  of  game. 
Another  morning  the  Prince  takes 
an  early  train  to  London,  lays  the 
corner  stone  of  a  Masonic  asylum  ; 
drives  to  a  new  hospital  which  he 
opens ;  presides  over  a  meeting  of 
the  British  Bible  Society  ;  and  then 
attends  a  meeting  at  the  Imperial 
Institute,  finally  returning  to  Sand- 
ringham  by  a  late  train. 

The  hearty  cheers  which  meet  him 
in  London  on  his  way  to  and  from 
the  station  are,  if  anything,  more 
cordial  than  those  which  greet  his 
Royal  Mother  on  her  drives  through 
the  town. 

Very  little  of  the  Prince's  time  is 
spent  in  amusing  himself.  He  is  at 
the  nation's  disposal,  and  the  nation 
is  a  hard  taskmaster.  His  is  a 
difficult  position  to  fill,  and  in  the 
fierce,  white  light  that  beats  upon  a 
throne,  his  slightest  actions  are  dis- 
torted. The  present  baccarat  affair 
is  a  good  illustration  of  the  way  in 
which  the  Prince's  affairs  are  twisted 
to  suit  the  scandal-loving  readers  of 
the  Radical  press  ;  but  the  storm  of 
adverse  criticism  now  raging  around 
his  head  has  already  begun  to  create 
a  reaction  in  his  favour,  and  thought- 
ful people  are  commencing  to  ask 
themselves  whether  it  is  quite  fair  to 
shower  so  much  abuse  upon  the  Heir 


Il8  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

Apparent  for  what  is  admitted  to  be 
an  error  of  judgment,  but  which 
amounts  to  nothing  more. 

His  attitude  in  this  baccarat  affair 
has  been  strictly  honourable,  although 
open  to  criticism.  It  may  be  worth 
while  to  analyze  the  charges  against 
him.  A  slight  examination  will  show 
the  flimsy  character  of  the  founda- 
tion upon  which  they  rest.  In  the 
first  place,  people  are  under  the  im- 
pression that  the  fact  of  his  connec- 
tion in  any  way  with  the  affair  was 
disgraceful.  This  view  of  the  case 
will  hardly  be  accepted  upon  mature 
reflection.  When  the  Prince  ran 
down  to  Tranby  Croft  for  a  few 
days'  rest,  and  in  the  evening  sat 
down  to  a  friendly  game  of  baccarat, 
he  never  dreamed  that  one  of  his 
oldest  friends  would  deliberately  try 
to  cheat  him.  With  the  fact  of  his 
playing  cards  for  money  the  world 
has  nothing  to  do.  Each  man  must 
decide  for  himself  whether  games  of 
chance  when  played  for  money  are 
wrong  or  right.  It  may  be  claimed 
that  the  Prince  was  not  a  man,  but  a 
Personage  ;  but  it  is  well  to  remem- 
ber that  he  played  cards  in  his  private 
capacity  and  not  as  Heir  Apparent. 

The  jury  has  decided  that  Sir 
William  Gordon-Cumming  did  cheat 
at  cards  ;  and  to  any  one  knowing 
the  game,  his  very  feeble  explana- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  II9 

tion  appears  absurd  ;  while  the  fact 
that  five  witnesses  saw  him  push  his 
counters  over  the  line  to  add  to  his 
stake  at  an  improper  time  practically 
places  the  matter  beyond  dispute. 
The  only  fault  that  the  Prince  of 
Wales  committed  was  one  of  kind- 
ness. He  signed  the  paper,  prepared 
by  Lord  Coventry  and  General  Owen 
Williams,  promising  secrecy  if  Sir 
William  would  agree  never  to  touch 
cards  again. 

That  is  :  he,  a  Field  Marshal  of 
the  British  Army,  tacitly  agreed  to 
allow  Sir  William  to  remain  in  the 
Army  and  in  his  regiment  while 
knowing  that  he  had  cheated  at 
cards.  His  duty  as  an  officer  was  to 
report  Sir  William's  conduct  at  once 
to  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  the 
Commander-in-Chief. 

This  he  failed  to  do  out  of  regard 
for  his  friend  ;  and  for  this  he  has 
been  so  bitterly  attacked  in  the 
press !  Again,  he  has  been  criti- 
cised for  his  continued  presence  at 
the  trial,  where  he  came  —  it  was  sug- 
gested—  for  the  purpose  of  muzzling 
eminent  Counsel.  Can  any  one  fail 
to  see  what  scorn  and  contempt  the 
press  would  have  poured  out  upon 
him  had  he  failed  to  appear  in  per- 
son ?  Every  one  would  have  said  he 
was  afraid  to  be  present. 

No  one  recognizes  more  fully  than 


I20  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

the  Prince  himself  that  an  error  of 
judgment  was  committed  wh^n  he 
condoned  Sir  William's  offence  ;  and 
his  recognition  of  this  fact  has  been 
proved  by  the  apology  offered  in  his 
name  by  Mr.  Stanhope,  Secretary-of- 
State  for  War,  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. x\ll  this  talk  and  discussion 
in  England  is  merely  froth  on  the 
surface.  The  resolutions  and  strict- 
ures passed  by  various  Dissenting 
bodies  with  much  display  of  bad  taste 
appear  to  be  equally  due  to  a  desire 
on  their  part  to  condemn  gambling  in 
high  places,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
draw  public  attention  to  themselves. 
The  lower-middle  class  and  the  agri- 
cultural labourers,  who  compose  the 
great  bulk  of  the  population  of  Eng- 
land, go  placidly  on  their  way,  paying 
no  attention  to  this  noisy  affair  and 
only  longing  for  their  beef  and  beer. 

The  upper-middle  class  is  more 
deeply  stirred  ;  for  does  it  not  count 
many  a  Mr.  Pecksniff  among  its 
members,  and  are  not  Mr,  Stiggins 
and  Mr.  Chadband  to  be  met  within 
its  chaste  and  highly  moral  circles  ? 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  Prince 
will  be  decidedly  more  careful  in 
future  as  to  whom  he  admits  to  the 
honour  of  his  acquaintance.  This 
baccarat  affair  may  cause  him  some 
slight  temporary  loss  of  popularity, 
but  a  generous  fault  often  makes  a 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  12  1 

man  more  popular  than  a  miserly- 
virtue  ;  and  the  enthusiastic  cheers 
which  greeted  the  Prince  at  Ascot 
only  a  day  or  so  ago  are  perhaps  a 
better  indication  of  what  the  people 
of  England  think  of  their  future 
King's  course  in  this  matter. 

A  significant  fact  is  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's loyal  adherence  to  his  Prince, 
and  his  stern  discouragement  of  the 
intention  of  his  unruly  Radical  col- 
leagues to  attack  the  Prince  in  Par- 
liament. Mr.  Labouchere,  too,  the 
cynical  editor  of  the  Radical  Truth, 
as  well  as  the  Liberal  Daily  Neivs, 
supports  the  Prince  ;  and  the  authors 
and  literary  men  whom  he  has  so 
often  helped  are  rallying  to  his  aid. 

The  Prince  of  Wales,  like  every 
one,  is  mortal ;  but  far  more  than  his 
great-uncle.  King  George  IV.,  does 
he  deserve  his  well-earned  title  of 
"  The  First  Gentleman  in  Europe." 


THE  LATTER-DAY  JACOBITES 


.HARING  CROSS.— A  few 
years  ago  Mr.  Gladstone 
brought  down  upon  him- 
self a  perfect  hailstorm 
of  remonstrance,  re- 
proach and  denial  by  a  statement  in  a 
public  letter,  to  a  candidate  for  Par- 
liamentary honours  in  the  Liberal 
interest.  This  statement  was  to  the 
effect  that  no  one  ever  now  dreamed 
of  objecting  to  the  Revolution  of 
1688,  and  its  results.  Previous  to 
this,  the  great  majority  of  English 
and  Americans  had  thought  the  cause 
of  the  Stuarts  forever  dead ;  and 
that  a  romantic  interest  —  chiefly 
historical  —  alone  remained  of  the  in- 
tense devotion  shown  to  that  fated 
family  in  the  unsuccessful  risings  of 
1 7 15  and  1745.  But  the  great  ma- 
jority was  undeceived  upon  the  ap- 
pearance of  Mr.  Gladstone's  letter, 
and  learned  with  a  degree  of  sympa- 
thetic amazement  that  there  existed 
in  Great  Britain  two  "  Orders "  or 
"  Leagues,"  both  aiming  at  the  return 
and  recall  of  the  heiress  of  the  Stu- 
arts, to  the  throne  of  her  ancestors. 
One   of   these,   the   ''Order    of    the 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  1 23 

White  Rose,"  was  merely  platonic  and 
existed  to  gratify  a  passion  for  his- 
torical romance  on  the. part  of  its 
members.  Its  principal  object  was  to 
hold  meetings  on  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
King  Charles  I.,  and  the  battle  of 
CuUoden  —  the  battle  that  proved 
the  death-blow  to  the  cause  of  the 
gallant  young  "Pretender."  I  say 
its  object  '^  was,"  advisedly  ;  for  the 
stupid  action  of  the  powers  that  be, 
on  a  certain  day  in  February  last 
(1892),  has  changed  its  somewhat 
lukewarm  hero-worship  to  working 
zeal,  and  has  brought  it  into  closer 
relations  with  the  other  association  : 
the  "Legitimist  Jacobite  League," 
This  society  makes  no  secret  of 
the  fact  that  it  meditates  treason. 
Its  avowed  purpose  is  to  restore  the 
Stuarts  ;  and  on  its  books  appear 
the  names  of  seven  thousand  people 
devoted  to  its  cause.  Most  of  these 
rebels  in  embryo  hail  from  the  High- 
lands, where  the  old  loyalty  to  the 
Stuarts  still  exists,  and  where  the 
last  desperate  stand  was  made 
against  the  bloodhounds  of  the 
butcher-Duke  of  Cumberland. 

This  League  always  refers  to  Her 
Majesty  as  "  The  Lady  Victoria  "  and 
recognizes  as  Queen  the  heiress  of  the 
Stuarts — the  wife  of  the  oldest  son  of 
the  Prince  Regent  of  Bavaria. 


124  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  digress 
here  and  wander  in  the  fascinating 
paths  of  the  genealogy  and  descent 
of  the  Stuarts  ;  but  it  would  fill  col- 
umns. However,  the  Order  of  the 
White  Rose  and  the  Jacobite  League 
are  satisfied  with  the  descent  of  the 
Princess,  and  they  are  the  ones'chiefly 
concerned.  Lest  my  information  be 
considered  apocryphal,  I  may  say 
that  all  my  statements  have  been 
verified  by  a  member  of  the  Order. 
Lately  the  League  has  turned  its 
attention  to  Parliamentary  matters, 
and  although  the  members  consider 
that  the  last  legal  Parliament  was 
held  when  King  James  IL  was 
cheated  out  of  his  throne  by  his 
Dutch  son-in-law,  they  are  not  above 
agitating  in  a  constitutional  way,  and 
have  secured  several  Legitimist  can- 
didates to  stand  at  the  general  elec- 
tion. So  to  sum  up  in  a  few  words  : 
Before  last  February  there  existed  in 
Great  Britain  two  associations  each 
looking  upon  the  present  Royal  Fam- 
ily as  usurpers,  and  each  devoted  to 
the  Stuart  cause  ;  one  theoretically, 
the  other  practically.  Both  these 
associations  had  existed  since  the 
rising  of  1745,  but  in  a  more  or  less 
chrysalis  condition  until  Mr.  Glad- 
stone's letter  aroused  them  to  de- 
clare themselves,  when  they  were 
amazed  at  the  adherents  that  poured 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  I25 

ill  from  all  over  the  United  King- 
dom— principally  from  Scotland  and 
Ireland,  many  from  England,  but  not 
one  from  Wales. 

Some  of  these  recruits  were  ani- 
mated simply  by  a  desire  for  some- 
thing new  and  were  people  who  are 
never  happy  unless  in  pursuit  of 
some  interesting  fad  ;  but  the  ma- 
jority consisted  of  those  whose  an- 
cestors had  fought  either  at  Killie- 
krankie,  at  CuUoden  or  at  Preston 
Pans.  There  is  more  or  less  mys- 
tery as  to  the  attitude  assumed  by 
the  object  of  all  these  hopes.  But 
she  is  believed  to  take  up  a  position 
of  inocuous  desuetude,  so  to  speak. 
That  is,  if  the  royal  lightning  should 
strike  her,  she  would,  like  Barkis, 
"be  willin'  ;"  but  until  the  Jacobite 
thunderstorm  gathers,  and  the  White 
Rose  lightning  illumines  the  polit- 
ical sky,  she  bides  her  time.  For 
Bavaria  is  at  peace  with  England. 
A  glimpse  at  the  incident  of  last 
Februar}^  before  referred  to  and  an- 
other which  happened  a  short  time 
before,  may  be  instructive.  Every- 
one knows  the  statue  of  King 
Charles  the  First,  which  stands  at 
Charing  Cross.  The  Order  of  the 
White  Rose  had  decided  to  decorate 
this  statue  of  the  King  upon  the  anni- 
versary of  his  martyrdom,  and  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  small 


126  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

band  of  zealous  Jacobites,  with 
wreaths  of  white  roses,  gathered 
near  the  statue — as  on  Primrose  Day 
the  Conservatives  gather  to  cover 
the  statue  of  the  great  Earl  with 
primroses — but  to  their  annoyed  sur- 
prise a  surly  policeman  was  stationed 
there  who  told  them  gruffly  to  "  move 
on" — that  no  decorations  would  be 
allowed  on  or  near  the  statue.  Many 
were  the  murmurs  and  loud  the 
remonstrances,  but  both  were  un- 
availing, until  one  of  the  party  sar- 
castically inquired  if  they  might 
leave  the  wreaths  at  the  foot  of  the 
statue  of  George  III.  hard  by.  No 
objection  was  made  to  this  (mark  the 
distinction  drawn  ! )  but  the  Legiti- 
mist sympathizers  preferred  to  carry 
their  wreaths  away  as  souvenirs,  and 
moved  on  with  many  muttered  obser- 
vations on  the  "  Hanoverian  pack," 
hated  of  their  fathers.  Several  of 
the  papers  referred  to  this  peculiar 
action  of  the  authorities  with  ridicule, 
and  blamed  the  Home  Secretary  for 
giving  an  unnecessary  prominence 
to  the  lately  resuscitated  party. 
This  was  the  first  thing  which  quick- 
ened the  lukewarm  zeal  of  the  Order 
while  it  inflamed  the  ardour  of  the 
League.  The  next  blunder  of  the 
authorities  was  more  serious,  and  to 
this  may  be  ascribed  the  Stuart  re- 
vival.    Of  this  incident  I  was  fortu- 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  I27 

nate  enough  to  "be  an  eye  witness. 
I  had  happened,  to  see  a  paragraph 
in  an  obscure  little  evening  paper  on 
the  seventh  of  February  to  the  ef- 
fect that  as  the  next  day  was  the 
anniversary  of  the  death  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  the  Order  of  the 
White  Rose  would  form  a  proces- 
sion in  Westminster  Abbey  to  lay  a 
wreath  upon  her  tomb.  The  Jacob- 
ite League  was  not  mentioned,  but, 
as  events  proved,  many  of  its  mem- 
bers had  learned  of  the  purpose  of 
the  Order  and  had  arranged  to  be 
present.  Mindful  of  the  refusal  to 
allow  the  Order  to  decorate  King 
Charles's  statue,  and  yet  hardly 
thinking  that  any  opposition  would 
be  offered  to  the  attempt  to  honour 
the  memory  of  the  unfortunate 
Queen,  especially  as  on  that  day 
the  Chapels  Royal  were  opened  to 
the  public,  I  arrived  early  at  the 
Abbey  and  as  soon  as  I  entered 
could  see  that  something  unusual 
was  in  the  air.  Small  knots  of  peo- 
ple were  whispering  in  the  nave, 
and  excited  vergers  bustled  about, 
dropping  their  h's  all  over  the  Abbey. 
The  daily  afternoon  service  was  to 
commence  at  half-past  three,  so 
there  was  some  anxiety  to  get  the 
function  over. 

The  Marquis  de  Ruvigny — -a.  name 
familiar  to  all  versed  in  the  history 


T28  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

of  the  Stuart  cause — and  Mr.  Clifford 
Mellish  were  waiting  at  the  door  for 
the  arrival  of  the  wreaths,  when  the 
appearance  of  a  score  of  stalwart 
police-constables  created  some  sur- 
prise. The  majority  of  the  strangers 
present  (there  were  about  six  hun- 
dred) had  evidently  come  for  the 
ceremony  of  placing  the  wreaths  on 
Queen  Mary's  tomb  and  were  wait- 
ing silently  and  reverently  until 
everything  should  be  ready.  For- 
tunately, as  we  all  thought,  the  day 
was  one  when  the  royal  tombs  were 
open  to  visitors  ;  but  soon  an  omin- 
ous murmur  arose  that  the  gates 
leading  to  the  chapels  where  the 
royal  tombs  were  had  been  closed. 
The  Marquis  de  Ruvigny  indignantly 
refused  to  believe  that  such  a  betise 
was  possible  on  the  part  of  the  Dean  ; 
but  a  surging  of  the  now  increasing- 
crowd  towards  the  chapels  showed 
that  the  gates  were  secured. 

Then  in  no  measured  terms  the 
disgust  and  anger  of  the  Jacobites 
broke  forth  :  "  Intolerable  Stupid- 
ity!" "Afraid  of  the  consequences!" 
"  Absurd  !  "  "  Idiotic  !  "  were  some 
of  the  expressions  used.  But  one 
braw  Scotchman  summed  up  the  situ- 
ation in  a  few  words  :  "  The  govern- 
ment has  turned  a  romantic  pilgrim- 
age into  real  treason,  and  has  raised 
us  to  the  dignity  of  a  political  party." 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  1 29 


The  leaders  now  got  together  near 
the  gates  and  talked  earnestly  while 
waiting  for  the  wreaths  to  come.  I 
was  curious  as  to  the  effect  of  the 
closing  of  the  gates  on  the  British 
public  in  general,  and  wandered 
through  the  Abbey,  catching  ex- 
pressions here  and  there.  "It's  a 
perfect  shame,"  exclaimed  a  rosy- 
cheeked  vicar  evidently  just  up  from 
the  country.  '^  It  makes  me  sym- 
patize  with  the  Jacobites — the  idea 
of  depriving  Englishmen  of  their 
right  of  free  assembly."  And  a  stout 
old  gentleman  near  him,  who  was  evi- 
dently something  in  the  city,  turned 
with  the  plaint  :  "  My  ancestors 
lent  King  George  the  First  money, 
and  I  have  always  been  a  staunch 
Hanoverian  ;  but  by  Jove  this  is 
too  much.  Do  you  suppose  if  these 
people  wished  to  decorate  the  tomb 
of  George  III.  or  of  Dutch  William 
they  would  be  stopped  ? "  And 
man}^  more  spoke  to  the  same  effect. 
The  impression  made  on  the  gen- 
eral public  present  was  evidently  bad. 
But  the  sight  of  a  well-known  figure 
pacing  up  the  nave  suggested  Arch- 
deacon Farrar,  and  it  was  indeed  he. 
Soon  the  leaders  of  the  abortive  pro- 
cession spied  him  and  entered  into 
eager  expostulation,  but  all  to  no 
purpose.  Dean  Bradley  was  in  Al- 
giers, and  the  Canon-in-residence  for 


130  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

the  time  being  (Canon  Ainger)  had 
decided  to  close  the  Chapels  Royal. 
He  could  not  interfere.  But  then 
the  large  wreath  appeared,  a  beauti- 
ful affair  of  white  roses  and  camel- 
lias, and  it  was  hastily  decided  to 
affix  it  to  the  gates  leading  to  the 
royal  tombs.  Then  a  short,  stout 
man  with  sandy  hair  and  beard 
pressed  forward,  eager  to  take  it. 

"  My  grandfather,  Robbie  Ander- 
son, led  the  way  for  Prince  Charlie 
at  the  Battle  of  Preston  Pans  and 
I'll  be  proud  to  lead  ye  now,"  he 
said.  A  scarcely  suppressed  cheer 
broke  forth  as  the  wreath  was  placed 
on  the  gates,  in  which  those  of  us 
who  claimed  a  touch  of  the  old 
Scotch  Cavalier  blood  joined.  A 
card  was  attached,  and  by  general 
request  the  descendant  of  Robbie 
Anderson  read  it  aloud.  I  after- 
wards copied  it  : 

"  In  memory  of  Mary,  Queen  of 
Great  Britain,  France  and  Scotland. 
Presented  by  the  Legitimist  (Jacob- 
ite) League.     February  8th,  1892." 

Then  as  the  inspectors  from  Scot- 
land Yard  drew  nearer,  a  red-faced 
verger  bustled  through  the  crowd  up 
to  the  gates  and  pointing  to  the 
wreath  exclaimed,  "  Take  that  thing 
down  !  "  This  gave  rise  to  murmurs 
of  remonstrance  and  indignation  and 
the  Marquis  de  Ruvigny  spoke  for  all : 


AS    THE    CROW    FLIES.  I31 

"  I  decline,"  said  the  Marquis,  "to 
touch  that  wreath.  Take  it  down 
yourself."  But  this  the  verger  had 
no  orders  to  do,  and  retreated  in  dis- 
comfiture. Then  it  was  proposed  to 
hold  a  meeting  in  Deans'  Yard  to 
protest,  but  Mr.  Stuart  Mellor  very 
sensibly  observed  that  it  would  do 
no  good  to  be  arrested  for  brawling, 
and  that  public  opinion  would  know 
what  to  think.  And  as  most  of  the 
Jacobites  present  were  Catholics  this 
exclamation  of  one  of  them  was  to  the 
point  and  caused  a  quick  clearance  : 
"  I  say,  if  we  don't  look  sharp,  we 
shall  be  in  a  Protestant  place  of 
wash-up  at  time  of  service."  And 
so  the  crowd  faded  gradually  away, 
and  what  but  for  the  tact  of  the 
leaders  might  have  turned  into  a 
"  demonstration  "  in  the  Abbey,  was 
safely  over.  But  the  moral  effect  of 
the  gathering  and  the  severe  measures 
used  by  the  authorities  has  not  yet 
died  away,  and  many  Englishmen 
who  cared  little  for  the  Stuarts  have 
joined  the  Order  or  the  League  as  pro- 
test against  this  act  of  the  govern- 
ment.    The  Dean,  I  believe,  refers 

the  matter  to  the  Bishop  of  London, 
and  he  mentions  the  Ecclesiastical 
Commissioners  more  or  less  vaguely. 

It  is  difficult,  therefore,  to  fit  the 
blame.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that 
this  incident  has  given  renewed  force 


132  AS    THE    CROW    FLIES. 

to  the  Jacobite  cause.  Their  Parlia- 
mentary candidates  are  busy,  and  the 
coming  general  election  will  aJEford  a 
practical  test  of  their  strength  with 
the  common  people.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  in  Ireland  they  could  se- 
cure many  seats  if  they  tried,  for  the 
Irishmen  of  the  south  still  remember 
the  Battle  of  the  Boyne. 

Sensible  people  all  around  regret 
the  blunder  of  the  government,  and 
as  usual  H.R.H.,  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
voiced  the  universal  sentiment  when 
he  declared  the  suppression  of  the 
pilgrimage  a  shame. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "I  would  have 
gone  with  them  myself,  and  would 
have  worn  a  white  rose,  too,  if  they 
had  asked  me." 

And  no  doubt  if  the  Canon-in-resi- 
dence,  or  the  Dean  of  Westminster,  or 
the  Bishop  of  London,  or  the  Eccle- 
siastical Commissioners,  or  who- 
ever was  responsible,  had  acted  in 
this  sensible,  unprejudiced  way,  the 
incident  would  have  closed  and  peo- 
ple would  have  smiled  at  the  archaeo- 
logical enthusiasm  of  the  Jacobites, 
instead  of  thinking  them  hardly  used, 
and,  ergo,  sympathizing  with  them. 


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